


A Waltz with the Devil and Other Merry Tales

by doivash



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Blind Character, Fake AH Crew, Homophobia, Love Triangle, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Wet Dream, eventual polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-14 16:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14772734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doivash/pseuds/doivash
Summary: It’s funny. Everyone said Gavin was the easiest person to befriend in order to start feeling comfortable in the crew. It made sense: the rumors pointed at him being the garish, dumb, and shining symbol of stereotypical millennial flaws. He was easy to joke with, constantly exuding an aura of jest and lazy confidence.He was different in every way from Ryan, the Vagabond, the cryptic harbinger of death who sat comfortably in his throne at the top of the Los Santos most wanted list. And yet, somehow, Jeremy found himself knowing more about Ryan than the rest of the crew within a month of arrival. Gavin took longer.





	1. Induction

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: gayfahc.tumblr.com  
> i love comments and questions!

It’s funny. Everyone said Gavin was the easiest person to befriend in order to start feeling comfortable in the crew. It made sense: the rumors pointed at him being the garish, dumb, and shining symbol of stereotypical millennial flaws. He was easy to joke with, constantly exuding an aura of jest and lazy confidence.

Yet, somehow, Jeremy found him to be the most confusing of them all.

He leans against the wall of the hotel bathroom Jack and him had made themselves moderately comfortable in, exchanging information before preparing for to the second phase of their parolling slash investigating expedition. It was a rather basic task that they probably could’ve given to someone outside the main group.

Though, Jeremy supposes, he WAS outside of the main group. He assumes this is just a basic task to get him started off in the crew. Which is a bit insulting to his skills, but he’ll take whatever he’ll get. He also assumes Jack was the one with him because she was the one with the most patience and the least luck in debates.

Jack leans towards the mirror, fingers curled against the sink and lips pinched as she shaved her face, shaving cream giving her a big fluffy beard. They were getting ready for a night out in the casino under them to inspect the level of security and the commitment of the workers there to be totally non-corrupt if anyone happened to want to bribe them for any reason. Jeremy adjusted his suit lapels, awkward and unsure of how to act.

“So, uh… What’s up?” Jeremy says, clearing his throat nervously.

Jack looks up at him in the reflection of the mirror, eyebrows furrowing slightly, before she turns on the faucet and starts splashing water on her face, sloshing the shaving cream off. After a moment, Jack turns off the faucet and glances back at him. “I’m starting to think charisma isn’t your strong suit.”

“N-no!” Jeremy stammers, subconsciously putting his hands up in defense. “I mean, yes. But no, I can totally be charismatic when I want to be.”

Jack starts putting some kind of fragrant lotion on her face and hands. “You don’t want to be charismatic in front of your superiors?”

Jeremy was starting to turn red. “No! No, I do, well, I am, but like, more, uh.. Subservient. N-not in a sexual way--”

“We have Trevor for kissing people’s asses.”

Jeremy starts making upset noises, wringing his hands, “I can threaten, I’m just not going to do that to my coworkers!”

Jack fluffs her hair and turns around, movements elegant and sleek. She was already significantly taller than Jeremy and her heels did not help, nor did the striking black gown. “You know, when Ryan first joined up, he went through every possible effort to appear as menacing and heartless as possible. He started shaving with a pocket knife in random mirrors just to show off,” she says, smiling, “And you’re just standing beet red like you’ve never worn a suit before.”

Jeremy fumbles with the end of his sleeve, slipping past Jack out of the bathroom. It was starting to feel a little cramped in there.

Jack leans against the doorway, voice more amused and nonthreatening than before, “Don’t worry Jeremy, you don’t need to have any charisma. God knows Michael can’t pull off the sly and charming act. We’ll keep that for Gavin.”

He sits on the bed, tugging his dress shoes on as the tension starts to slide off his bones just a little. “Yeah, I don’t think I can do that great,” Jeremy admits, pausing for a moment. He feels like he has something else to say but he doesn’t know what. He has lots of dumb questions he’d love to ask but, luckily, he’s talked himself out of it.

Jack seems to be thinking, arms crossed. “Do you have a persona?”

Jeremy blinks and looks up at her. “I have Persona 5?”

“Not the game, idiot,” Jack sighs, walking over to sling her purse over her shoulder. “Like how Ryan has the Vagabond. A suit you can put on and feel more confident in.” Jack looks him over again, adding, “Maybe not an actual suit though.”

Jeremy prickles, “What’s up with you and my suit? It fits me perfectly fine!”

“Hm, maybe measurement-wise, but you act like a child shoved in a suit for Sunday school.”

“Well I’m _sorry_ if a black tux isn’t exactly the most stand-out, badass thing in the world!” Jeremy says, throwing his hands up.

Jack smiles, walking over to him. “You sound like Gavin. He had to set up his own formal attire, with full golden vest, gold floral suspenders, and tailcoats for him to be comfortable.” Jack reaches out and ruffles his hair, much to Jeremy’s dismay, “Maybe we’ll get you something equally dumb so you’ll start acting like the stories described you.”

Jeremy scowls, pushing his hair back, “When I _acted_ in those stories, Geoff yelled at me for what I was wearing.”

Jack sighs, exasperated, “Dressing like a rat is not a new persona.”

“Maybe my persona can be a rat,” Jeremy says, defiantly, chin up.

Jack rolls her eyes, walking to the hotel room door. “We’ll work on it. Come on, packrat.”

Jeremy stands up, following her as she swings open the door and steps outside. He is now paying significantly more attention to acting smooth and natural in a suit.

The hallway is empty as they walk to the elevators. A question stirs in Jeremy’s chest. “Does everyone have a, uh, extra persona?” Jeremy asks, peering over at Jack.

“Most seem to. Makes everything easier,” Jack says, pushing the elevator call button.

“Does Gavin have one?”

Jack doesn’t seem fazed by the question. “Yeah. His persona is Douchebag Idiot.”

“Well, packrat doesn’t seem so bad in comparison,” Jeremy says, dryly.

Jack cracks a smile. “If your goal is anywhere near Gavin, you’re doing it wrong.”

* * *

Jeremy knows what Jack means by the “stories.” She was there too, when they propositioned him, watching through security cameras. He was conducting what seemed like an average drug trafficking job, him and Bragg, sliding into an abandoned warehouse in the middle of the night. He was in a stained wife beater and black joggers, hands cloaked in fingerless weight lifting gloves. Matt was a bit more awkward and less white thug, more hoodies and light on weight lifting.

The air of the dim warehouse was thick, muggy, and suffocating. Sweat dripped down Jeremy’s forehead as he crossed into the middle of the warehouse. He went to wipe his forehead, turning to glance around the warehouse for signs of the guy they were supposed to make the deal with. In that moment, he heard a gurgle and a thud, and a gasp that he immediately recognized as Matt’s.

He flipped around to see a figure dragging Matt down to the ground, the man’s arm around Matt’s neck. Matt reached out to Jeremy, trying desperately to say something, before Jeremy felt a sharp _thud_ on the back of his head.

He stumbled, head bursting into a fireworks show of pain, but he didn’t stop to think about it. He turned around and tucked his head down before slamming his shoulder into the man with his full weight behind it. The man didn’t stumble for long, but it gave Jeremy long enough to run after Matt’s assailant.

He slid around behind Matt’s assailant, who was crouched choking out Matt, and looked at the guys approaching. There’s three running at him. He pulled a knife out of the sheath on his hip. Hm.

He slammed his hand forward before pulling his knife back against the crook of the assailant's elbow, watching the men run at him in slow motion as he pulled his knife through the skin and muscles of the man’s forearm. By keeping his body on Matt, the assailant was only providing the resistance Jeremy needed to hurt him.

The assailant gasped, his grip loosening on Matt enough for Matt to shove his elbows back and escape his grasp, hand drifting to his neck as he started desperately gasping in air. Jeremy pictured himself in his gymnast years: running and leaping on the trampoline before doing whatever series of flips he had orchestrated to perform in the air. Instead, he just leaped onto the assailant’s body, flying forward and launching his fist into the closest man’s face. The adrenaline rushing through his ears drowned out the horrible snapping and cries from the guy he jumped on.

He slammed his knee between the man’s legs, relishing in the sound he made. He pulled his elbow up above his head before slamming it down into the man’s cheekbones. He gave the man a kick in the stomach as he tumbled down.

He didn’t really want to kill them, or slice them, or seriously wound them in any way; he was much fonder of hand-on-hand combat and threats. Which would be fine; he could take down the two other guys with some well timed kicks and punches. But as the two men in front of him came closer, and one slid to the side to slam a foot into Matt’s stomach, and Matt cried out, and the man prepared for another hit, something red and hot flashed in Jeremy’s eyes.

The man used Jeremy’s split second loss of attention to nail a fist in Jeremy’s face. Jeremy is pushed back a step, but it only makes his next move have that much more velocity. He wraps both his hands around his knife, knees bent and head down as he lunges forward to stab the guy in the stomach. One of the man’s hands slide to his stomach and he has a notable tremor, his mouth open in pain as he grabbed Jeremy by the back of the head and slammed his head into his.

Jeremy saw stars for a moment, all the air leaving his lungs, but he could hear Matt crying out in pain behind him. He folds his fingers down and slams the heel of his palm up into the man’s septum. That’s all it takes for the man to fall and send Jeremy spinning to claw the man off of Matt.

He had been straddling Matt, hands around his neck and seeming to relish every one of Matt’s helpless attempts to get him off. Jeremy grabbed the guy by the scruff of the neck, fingernails digging bloody crescents into his skin, and slammed him down onto his side, leg still awkwardly over Matt’s. Jeremy lunged onto him, sitting on his chest and choking all the air out his lungs as he slammed his fist into his face, over, and over, and over again. All he could hear was rushing blood, and all he would see was red, and all he could think of was Matt’s cries of pain.

Matt pulled him out of it, hand tugging at the back of his tank top. Jeremy’s breath was heavy, bloody hands loosening as he started to hear again. He was suddenly all too aware of where he was, and the fact that he was currently straddling a newly dead man.

He pushed away, falling on his ass and digging his heels in the dirt to push himself backwards. At some point, he had plunged his knife into the man’s chest without realizing it, and it lay stuck there. Matt’s chest was against his back, his hands clamped in Jeremy’s shirt. Blood and dirt were caked under his nails. It seems Matt had done some clawing of his own earlier.

Jeremy realized about ten minutes too late that they were being watched the whole time. The Kingpin was stood in front of him, hands in the pockets of his starched pants. The Vagabond dropped down from the rafters, knees bent and hand down as he came down, actions trained and perfect. He straightened, eery mask peering into Jeremy’s soul.

Matt spoke first, his voice shaky before he cleared it. “Were these guys, uh, yours?” Fear seized Jeremy’s heart; if they got the scourge of the Fake AH Crew after them, they would be dead before the end of the week.

The Kingpin snorted, pulling his hands out his pockets to smooth back his hair. “No, they were actually nuisances we tricked into ambushing you. You guys did us a favor by getting rid of them.” He paused before adding, eyes sliding to Jeremy, “Though we expected you to deal with this with just your fists, but you seem to have surpassed your background as a underground fighter.”

Jeremy’s heart was in his stomach. He could feel Matt’s fingers digging into his shoulder, which gave him a little comfort, in that weird way physical touch does. Unfortunate that they have to die, but it’s nice to be with friends on your deathbed.

The Vagabond’s crouched, cool blue eyes turned down towards the body at his feet, the one Jeremy just killed. “I believe this to be,” he smiled, baby blues turned to Jeremy, “A classic case of overkill.”

“Are they all dead?” Jeremy said, licking his lips nervously. It tasted metallic.

The Vagabond shook his head, “No, but the three alive ones are bleeding out or suffocating.” He paused. “Do you want to put them out of their misery?”

Jeremy cleared his throat, slowly shifting to sit without having his hands to support him. He wiped blood off his forehead subconsciously. “I’ll, ah, let you have that if you want.”

The Vagabond does.

The Kingpin made a motion for them to stand up. Jeremy peeled himself from Matt, both of them springing up maybe a little too quickly to be cool. The Kingpin clapped a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder first. “Welcome to your assessment. You passed.” He laid his other hand on Matt’s shoulder, hesitating. “You passed when you tracked down the guy we sent to hack your Nintendo account and then had him killed.”

Jeremy made a face at Matt. Matt put his hands up in a defensive shrug.

Vagabond spoke up behind them, clearing his throat, “But, Dooley, if you wanna get anywhere, you gotta change--” he gestures up and down Jeremy’s body, “--all this. What are you, an Italian mobster?”

Jeremy began to speak up but Vagabond interrupted him again, “No, you’re just a Bostonian street thug. Not even a real mobster. They’d at LEAST have a pair of slacks. There’s just no _pizzazz_ here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are multiple trans characters in this fic, Jack is just the first  
> short first chapter because i wanted the next section to be all together :V


	2. Façade.exe

Jeremy walked into the armory, sliding up to the table of dismantled pistol parts that Ryan was stood at. Ryan didn’t have his mask on, but the face paint was still protecting Jeremy’s eyes from thinking he was a total human.

He coughs. Ryan raises an eyebrow, looking at him, “Yes?”

Jeremy slaps his hands on the table, eyebrows scrunched in determination. “I need to find pizzazz.”

Ryan sets the pistol down. “Well, what you’re wearing’s not it.”

A flush rises up Jeremy’s neck. He tugs at the bandana around his neck, awkward. “Bandanas aren’t my thing?”

“No. Why would you ever think they were?”

“I dunno, cowboys look cool. I like that kind of western style outlaw, free from the laws,” He mocks shooting finger guns from his hips, back bent, “Pew pew.”

“You aren’t cosplaying McCree on the boss’s dime.”

Jeremy sighs, finger guns falling to his sides, “I’m serious, Jack says my style makes me look like a rat.”

Ryan nods approvingly, “Did she touch on the fake mobster, real street thug vibe?”

“I’m sure you did it enough for her,” Jeremy grumbles, before sighing. “You have one, Geoff has one, Gavin has one, and I’m standin’ on the sidelines like a street thief.”

“Which you were,” Ryan reminds him.

“Geoff says I’m more like Vagabond than any other recruit he’s had, so if you sass my abilities, you sass your image.”

“But,” Ryan says, eyes locking with his, “You’re not me.” He looks back down at the disassembled pistol underneath him, lightly tapping his fingers against it, before looking back up and waving at Jeremy’s chest, “It’s obvious I wouldn’t wear something something so flashy and… ugly.”

Jeremy gasps, clutching at his chest, “It’s not ugly! Purple and orange are nice colors!”

“Perhaps. But not together.”

“It brings attention to me, so they always know I’m coming, or they always see a flash of me before--” He brings his fist down into his hand, jumping a little as he does his overexaggerated punch, “--BOOM, they have my fists on ‘em.”

Ryan shakes his head, lips cracking into a smile, “They’ll at least notice you so they can shoot at you first and change those colors into red.”

They banter back and forth about the virtues, or lack thereof, of various clothing implements and about the art of costuming for a while, before falling into a comfortable silence, thoughts roaming both of their minds. Jeremy has a small but noticeable feeling that he’s actually the closest to Ryan than anyone else.

Jack is, while sarcastic and chiding, kind to him, but they don’t really have a lot to talk about other than business. Geoff’s alright but a bit too busy for Jeremy to feel comfortable bothering him. Michael’s cool, they play games together sometimes and he’s easy to chat to, especially if you have a shared dislike of something. Gavin’s his own mystery. But Ryan always seemed interested in him and his capabilities. Which is a bit unsettling, given that his abilities include being fucking nuts and a casual heartless killer, but it’s nice to have someone who enjoys your company.

“What’s up with Gavin?” Jeremy says, breaking the silence.

Ryan looks up. “What about him?”

Jeremy scratches at his beard, shifting a bit uncomfortably, “Like, what’s his whole deal? He seems like… a joke. He’s got his whole gold get-up, chest hair popping out, idiot attitude and questions and…” Jeremy can feel frustration bubbling in his chest, questions filling his brain that he doesn’t know how to form into words, “He’s so carefree, and careless, and dangerous, to himself and other people. He doesn’t seem real.”

Ryan picks up the gun he had been working on, walking over to a table of intact pistols and setting it down. He seems to be satisfied with whatever he was doing, cleaning it or suping it up or just having a good time disassembling and reassembling things. “He probably isn’t real.”

Jeremy blinks. “Well he’s not a robot, Ryan,” Jeremy says, a tinge of irritation in his voice. “Robots would be way better than that.”

Ryan nods, glancing back at him, “No, not a robot. More like… His persona is not as well divided from his person as other people’s. Which is fine, Lord knows I’m usually straddling the line between me and the Vagabond at all times. He just seems to keep his Golden Boy thing goin’ in front of us most of the time too, while I usually let mine slip juust a little.

“Don’t get careless now, though,” Ryan adds, cooly, tilting his chin up and watching Jeremy with a dark look in his eye, “The Vagabond’s always with me, ready to take control.”

God, Jeremy hopes that he doesn’t end up weird like that. He chooses not to respond to that, instead asking, “Why wouldn’t he let it go in front of you guys? Do you not trust each other?”

Ryan drops the whole Vagabond act. “I don’t know, it’s different for different people. It’s like putting on a suit of armor, an extra protective layer made out of confidence and an aura of not caring,” Ryan muses, closing his eyes and mocking putting on a mask. “Nothing can get to you in it, because you don’t feel.” Ryan opens his eyes, not focused on Jeremy, “Though because he isn’t that disconnected from himself, he still has emotions, he can probably just not care as much.”

Ryan focuses his gaze back on Jeremy, arms crossing against his chest, “I dunno, maybe he doesn’t trust us all along, and he’s a spooky triple-agent working for the government. Or he is a robot, purposefully programmed to seem more human by being an idiot bad at everything. Or maybe he just doesn’t trust anybody. Who cares. It’s Gavin.”

Jeremy nods, pushing himself back from the table when Ryan starts to head for the door. “Do you trust him?”

Ryan hums, thinking. “No,” Ryan says, finally, picking up his mask from a table by the door and setting it back against his face, “I don’t trust anybody.”

At least Jeremy can definitively say that he doesn’t think Gavin is a robot.

* * *

Jeremy gets the first glimpse of a vulnerable Gavin when they’re in the middle of a shoot out with the cops during a heist. He and Ryan were on duty covering for Gavin and Michael as they sprinted out of the bank, duffle bags hoisted over their shoulders. Michael whooped and hollered as bullets whizzed past them, zigzagging as he ran behind Jeremy and Ryan before sliding into an alley where Jack was waiting to pick them up. Gavin was a little behind him, plumes of cash flying from his bag as he ran.

Then, right as he was passing the point where Ryan and Jeremy were set up behind barricades, a bullet just barely missed his head, clipping his sunglasses on the way down. At the sound of the sharp gasp in his ear, Jeremy turned, momentarily forgetting where he was. Time seemed to move in slow motion; he saw the fear exploding in Gavin’s eyes, feet tripping over each other from shock and arms flying out to brace for his fall. His lips were parted, mouth opening but yelp stuck in his throat.

Jeremy had the urge to run out and help, even if that idea was stupid and he would be too late to grab him to stop him from tripping. Weirdly, helplessness gripped at his own chest.

Gavin’s hands skidded across the ground, eyes wide and face contorted in fear, legs bent but not moving. His back bends, feet pushing against asphalt as he grasps for something, before there’s a flash and he screams. His knee falls against the asphalt, blood spewing from the new bullet-shaped hole in his calf. There’s yelling that Jeremy can’t quite make out over the comm system, yells for him to move, and Michael swearing.

Gavin’s face contorts in helplessness, before he pushes off the ground and forces himself to keep running, haggard breaths flooding Jeremy’s brain.

All of this happens in the span of a few seconds, but it felt like months to Jeremy, every cry another scrape down his heart. Gavin’s lazy carelessness and giddy laughter always made him seem almost invincible, like he could rise from any blow and didn’t care as a result. Like he was untouchable, a step above everybody else and fully aware.

But now he looked human.

Jeremy’s drawn out of his wide eyed cloud of confused contemplation by a punch to the shoulder. He blinks, the gunfire around him suddenly less blurred. A black skull peers back, irritation flashing in its blue eyes as he gestured for them to follow through with the next step of the plan, running after Gavin and Michael into the alley. “More shooting, less thinking, dumbass,” Ryan hisses, before breaking into a sprint.

Jeremy fires off another shot before tucking his gun down and running after him, bending to pick up Gavin’s discarded sunglasses on the way.

* * *

He didn’t see Gavin for the rest of the mission. Gavin, Michael, and Jack flew away in a helicopter with most of the goods, while he, Ryan, and Geoff sped through the streets taking down cops in the skies and those following them. They got back about an hour later than them, the cops being particularly persistent that day.

He heard that Gavin was in the medbay after their medic, Caleb, took the bullet out of his leg and loaded him up on pain relievers and topical antibiotics.

He headed into a bathroom he had unofficially claimed as his own, flicking the light on and closing the door behind him. He sits on the ground, beginning the arduous process of peeling off his sweat-soaked, bloodied clothes. Most of the blood wasn’t his own. _I bet Gavin’s clothes were soaked in his blood,_ his brain helpfully adds. He stops, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall.

Why was this messing with him so much? He’s seen people get hurt before. Jack was still bandaged from a stray bullet that hit her shoulder last heist. He was sad then, and gave her flowers that she promptly threw back at him, but it was different now.

The memory of Matt’s cries and the blood on his lips flickers through Jeremy’s head. He remembers the blinding anger, the heartache, the deep fiery need to make it alright. The desire to hold every part of him and ensure it never happened again, to protect him. The idea that someone hurt somebody so vulnerable.

It was different now. Now it was the idea that someone could make Gavin so vulnerable. It felt… wrong. Like Gavin should’ve just hissed and planned a vendetta against the guy, not fall.

Jeremy has to stop thinking about it.

He quickly changes out of his clothes, throwing on a loose t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that he had at the base for this exact reason. He washes his hands and scrubs up his arms, the sink water red underneath him. He wipes his face with a damp washcloth. He won’t feel right until he showers, but this’ll do for now.

He reaches down into his pile of clothes, fiddling with the inner pockets of his jacket, before pulling out Gavin’s sunglasses. _I’m sure he’d like these back_ , he thinks, well aware that Gavin surely had the funds to buy more and unhappily aware of the thoughts in the back of his head saying that he just wants an excuse to talk to him.

When he reaches the medbay, Geoff’s already there. Geoff looks up at him with wide eyes as he enters, clothes still soiled with blood and dirt from the mission. It’s clear Geoff ran to Gavin as soon as they reached the base. He quickly masks the look of sad exhaustion on his face with one of faux irritation.

“Thank God somebody else is here,” Geoff says with an exaggerated sigh, sitting up and stretching in his chair. “Chatterbox over here won’t shut the fuck up and stop complaining.”

Gavin’s awake in bed, a cheap pair of polka dot sunglasses over his eyes. Jeremy feels a little dumb bringing sunglasses when he already has them, but he covers it up with the thought that Gavin is dumber for wearing sunglasses inside.

“It’s not my fault everything hurts,” Gavin whines, tilting his chin up obstitantly, “and that you organized the heist so it’s automatically your fault.”

Geoff shakes his head, standing up and walking over to Jeremy with desperation in his eyes. He sets a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, “Please, Jeremy, he’s yours now. Please keep him.” Jeremy blinks as Geoff leaves the room, presumably to change clothes and wash up, maybe pee, and the door shuts behind him.

He realizes now that this is the first time he’s ever talked to Gavin alone. Every other time somebody else was also in the conversation and Jeremy was just there to chime in. His mouth feels a little dry. _Come on, Jeremy, he’s just Gavin, you’re normally fine with new people and he’s not even a new people._

He strides over to Gavin’s side and plops on the chair next to him. “Hey Gavin, how’re you doing?” He asks, leaning forward in his chair with his elbows on his thighs.

“Just dandy, Lil’ J, the hole in my leg is practically just a mosquito bite,” He pauses, “It would be interesting if mosquitos really did bite you and, like, made a hole instead of a bump.”

“No it wouldn’t be, I don’t want that at all, what’s wrong with you?”

“I’m just saying, it’s some really poor terminology on our part. It should be a mosquito suck.”

“A mosquito suck mark, hm? A mosquito hickey,” Jeremy smiles, leaning back in his chair. This isn’t so bad.

Gavin breaks out in a grin, voice excited, “Ah, Jeremy, lots of mosquitos out tonight, I’m just _covered_ in their hickies.”

Jeremy drapes a hand over his forehead, “Oh dear, these mosquito love bites are just quite troublesome.”

They break into giggles, lines about mosquito bites getting more and more sexual as they go. Caleb comes in to change Gavin’s IV at some point, during which Gavin refers to “blood-suckers penis-sucker love-sucker sucker marks,” and Caleb decides to swiftly leave again. It only gets dumber and more convoluted as they went on.

They fade into a comfortable silence as the well of mosquito jokes ran dry, a smile lingering on Jeremy’s lips as he gazed at the ceiling. The weight of Gavin’s sunglasses in Jeremy’s pocket suddenly makes itself known; he had almost forgot his excuse for coming here in the first place.

He sits up, digging in his pocket, “Oh, Gavin, I picked these up for you,” he says, sliding the sunglasses out of his pocket and holding them out to him.

Gavin’s eyebrows shoot up, his hand darting out to grab them. He misses them at first, hand fumbling against Jeremy’s forearm before snatching them from his fingers. Jeremy’s ears burn, but Gavin doesn’t seem to notice. He’s pushing himself out of his bed, fingers grazing across the bedside table. His fingers bounce against a cup of water, the only thing on the table, and he growls under his breath from frustration. He’s starting to pull himself out of bed when Jeremy stands up and puts his hands in front of him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you shouldn’t be getting out of bed, you just got shot,” Jeremy says, pressing a hand against Gavin’s chest and pushing him back into the bed. Gavin’s sitting on the edge of the bed, small spots of blood dotting the bandages wrapped around his calf. “What are you trying to get?”

Gavin seems to struggle for a moment, lips pursed together, before his shoulders slump and he seems to give in. “Is there a table somewhere where all my jewelry and stuff? I have a small pair of gold earbuds, I need them.”

Jeremy pulls his hand back suddenly, realizing that it was still on his chest. Gavin was shirtless, clad only in a pair of boxers and the bandage around his thigh. He was tanned, slim and muscular, covered in thick dark blond hair. Jeremy turns away, hiding the flush in his cheeks.

His eyes fixate on a table across the room covered in glittering gold. He walks over, picking through the garish pile of accessories before finding two tiny gold cylinders. There’s no wire and nothing big poking out from the bud part, so they must be practically invisible when he wears them unless you were purposefully looking for them. He picks them up and turns around, standing next to Gavin’s bed again.

He holds them out, awkward, and says “I think these are them?” Gavin reaches out, biting his lip as he presses his curled fingers into Jeremy’s palm and takes them from him, fumbling as he does so. He quickly presses them into his ears and takes the sunglasses from where they laid in his lap. He peels off the polka dot sunglasses and throws them at Jeremy.

They hit him in the chest, sputters falling from his lips as he looks down and clumsily reaches for them as they fall down his chest and plop against the ground. He snatches them up and looks up again. Gavin’s already put the other sunglasses back on. A part of Jeremy feels disappointed that he couldn’t see Gavin’s eyes. He chalks it up to curiosity rather than anything else.

“What was that for?” Jeremy sputters, indignant. Gavin flashes a lopsided smile, pulling himself back into bed and leaning against the wall.

“I thought you might like them, Jeremy,” Gavin says, feigning innocence. “Maybe they’ll look good on you.”

“ _Maybe_ they’ll look good?” Jeremy puffs up his chest and closes his eyes, “ _Everything_ looks good on me.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s see it then.”

Jeremy tilts his chin up, sliding them on and posing. It now occurs to him that these might’ve been made for children.

Gavin snickers, and starts gesturing to him as the door opens behind Jeremy. “Michael, look at Jeremy!”

Jeremy whips around, looking back at Michael. He’s standing in the doorway in fresh clothes with wet hair dripping, clearly fresh from a shower. He raises his eyebrow, “You into polka dots, J?”

Jeremy stands up, trying to act buff and cool, “Maybe I am! I’m sure they look GREAT on me.”

Michael snorts and pushes off the wall, nudging past Jeremy to steal his seat. Jeremy huffs and strides towards the door. “Now that you’ve taken Gavin off my hands, I can show off my new studs to the rest of the crew.”

Gavin tilts his head, nervous smile tracing across his face. “You know you don’t have to sit here with me, right?” He pauses, “Michael does, legally, but you don’t have to.”

Jeremy hesitates, unsure how to reply without admitting that he wants to figure him out like a puzzle or that he wants to know him better. There’s a notable second where Jeremy doesn’t reply, instead just opening his mouth in the hope that something smart and cool will come out. He ends up just blurting out “the crew is a crew, we stick together,” and hobbling out the room.

He then has to listen to a lecture from Ryan about the harms of feeling empathy or care during missions, and how it could’ve gotten multiple people injured because his guard was down, and etc.

* * *

That night, he has a dream.

Gavin’s shot and surrounded, crying out to Jeremy. Blood drips down his legs, bandages soaked and dirty. He’s in just boxers, tan chest heaving with the effort of running. Tears are streaming from under his sunglasses.

Jeremy’s trying to reach him, but he’s moving through molasses, fingers grasping at the air desperately. He’s so close, so close, so close to being able to grab him. He’s choking on helplessness, the air being tugged from his lungs every second that he can’t protect him. Finally, his fingers press against his chest, palm flattening against the skin and hair. He can feel his heart thudding, blood dripping.

Suddenly he’s pulled back a thousand feet, hand burning where he had touched him, arms pinned tight behind his back by handcuffs. When he cranes his head back, peering behind his back, he can see the handcuffs are oversized sunglasses. He looks back at Gavin and sees darkness where his eyes should be, a complete void. Black surrounds his head.

When he wakes up, he realizes he doesn’t know what Gavin looks like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dreams are weird.
> 
> those are the two first chapters of this fic! if you have any questions or comments, feel free to throw them out. i promise ryan's about to be involved a lot and then you'll start missing gavin instead of him


	3. Guys Bein' Dudes pt.1

“Where does Gavin live?”

Michael looks over at him. Jeremy realizes how abruptly he said it and how creepy it seems to ask. His face flushes. “I mean, does he have, like, a condo, apartment, house, uh…”

Michael squints at him, still suspicious, before tearing his eyes away to look back at the screen. They’re plopped on a couch in the base playing video games, waiting for the Gents to come back with their golden haul: Chinese food. Gavin’s taking a shower, so he’s out of their hair for the moment.

“He has an apartment a few minutes away from here. He lives alone, if that’s what you’re asking. You looking for a place to live or something?”

Jeremy quickly shakes his head, “No, God no, I have my own place. It’s just like…” He hesitates, biting his lip before giving in. “I’m not convinced he’s a real person.”

That gets Michael to stop and squint at him again. His character is quickly sniped and replaced with a feed of the other player running away and firing off shots to the distance. Jeremy rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed, “I mean, I think he’s human, but like, he rarely shows pain and he’s always in the best fashions but somehow in an annoying way and he’s absurdly rich and crashes all the time but brushes it off so quickly and, like, never shows any fear or pain? Or he rarely does, at least. He screams all the time through comms and whines but it’s always, like, not a big deal, he just wants to complain but it’s not actually affecting him.”

Michael stares at him. “Uh huh.”

“So I’m imagining he must live in, like, a mansion or something, but even that doesn’t make sense because he’s so attention seeking that I would’ve thought he’d be throwing parties every twenty seconds with all the hottest people around the world, or at least the hot people he likes.” He pauses and looks down, furrowing his eyebrows and murmuring, “Actually, he might be and I’m just not invited.”

“Dude, shut the fuck up.” Jeremy looks back at Michael; Michael is staring at the screen again, thumbs shoving his character forward. “He has get togethers every now and then, he’s as normal a person as a Gavin can be, blah blah blah. Hey, quick question, why are you talking to me about this instead of him?”

_Well, Michael, that’d just be foolish. Who actually speaks to the person that they want to know more about?_ Jeremy scratches at his beard, nervous and trying to pretend he’s focused on the game, “I dunno, you know him pretty well, I just thought you might be able to understand his, uh…” Nope, there’s no winning. “Nevermind.”

“Hey, Gavin--” Michael starts to yell, before the swift opening of the front door and collective screams of “PIZZA!” interrupt him. Jeremy thanks any kind of deity above him that exists, and promises to pray at least one time as a result of their good deeds.

* * *

Jeremy is convinced that Michael and Ryan put in a word with Geoff to make their next mission end with Gavin and Jeremy alone in a helicopter. Strategically, it made sense: Gavin was in no position to be running on his bum leg, and he was a perfectly fine get away driver. Still, it seemed the tiniest bit cruel.

Gavin was whooping as Jeremy zagged across the road and lept into the side of his helicopter, the vehicle immediately pushing off the ground and into the air. He shoved the USB into his back pocket and kneeled on the floor, looping his arm around a railing to keep himself secure before whipping out an assault rifle and starting to rain shots upon the rival gang below them.

The wind whipped through his hair, grin dancing across his lips as he and Gavin rose and rose until they were in the clouds, dipping behind mountains to lose the gang and the couple straggling cops. They lost them relatively quickly, the cloud-soaked mountains providing a good hiding spot.

When he was satisfied they could safely return to the base, Jeremy pulled the massive helicopter door closed and shuffled to the front, brushing past Gavin before plopping into the co-pilot seat. He put on the chunky headphones to cancel out the raging sounds of the blades above them and smiled as Gavin rattled off some stereotypical pilot-sounding jargon and started describing how the weather would be upon arrival.

It was pretty quiet on the way back, the flight only lasting around 10 minutes and the roaring wind around them preventing most casual conversation. Questions gnawed at Jeremy’s stomach as they neared the helipad at the top of their building, his eyes darting between the sights around him and Gavin’s face.

When they land, and the blades start to slow, and Gavin takes off his headphones and stretches, long limbs pressing against the ceiling as he arched his back, Jeremy’s chest was suddenly gripped in apprehension and deep, desperate curiosity.

As Gavin powered down the helicopter and started pulling open the door, Jeremy suddenly reached out and grasped his arm, pulling him back, “Wait, hold on, please.”

Gavin looked back, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He kept one hand on the door, leg already halfway out the vehicle. “What’s wrong?”

“Can I talk to you?” he says, nervous. Ah, shit, it seems like he’s about to discipline Gavin. “Uh, you’re not in trouble, I just wanted to ask you something.” Jeremy winces; if it didn’t seem like an interrogation before, it definitely does now.

Gavin slowly draws his foot back into the helicopter and tugged the door to a gentle close. He seems deeply uncomfortable, fidgeting in his seat and fingers going to wrap around the steering wheel subconsciously. Jeremy was already starting to regret this.

He pulls his hand off of Gavin’s arm, tugging it back to rub at the back of his neck. “Why do you wear sunglasses all the time?”

Gavin stops, a second passing before he seems to recognize the question. “It’s bright,” he says, dry.

“You wear them at night.” His lying makes Jeremy certain that he has three eyes. Or the void instead of eyes like his dream depicted.

Gavin leans back in his seat, looking ahead and tapping his knuckles against the wheel. He seems to go through an inner debate, questions flicking through his rapping fingers. A minute goes by before he starts, slowly, “Maybe I just like the image of sunglasses more than my eyes.”

Jeremy pulls himself closer to Gavin, eyes set upon his cheekbones. Gavin was still staring ahead, lips pursed. Jeremy licks his lips before asking, “Can I see your face?”

Gavin taps his fingers against the wheel one last time before he seems to steel himself again, lazy posture returning as his emotions are sealed behind a wall again. He throws an arm over the back of his seat, letting go of the wheel and shifting to face Jeremy. He tosses out a lopsided smile and tilts his head to the side as he pushes his sunglasses up to rest in his hair. “Sorry Jeremy, I didn’t mean to keep this pretty mug from you.”

Jeremy’s locks eyes with Gavin -- or, at least, he tries to. Jeremy knew that he had a scar over his eye since it split through his eyebrow and showed under the bottom rim of his sunglasses. However, he didn’t realize how it would continue into his eye socket, eyelid permanently shut and socket hollow. His other eye shined with the unnatural white of a man with severe cataracts, a light, milky blue pupil in the center of his green iris.

It wasn’t at all what Jeremy expected. Yet, it seemed perfect for him. The puzzle piece fit in Jeremy’s mind, the black hole of Gavin’s eyes finally filled in. It mended with his cocky smile, light under eye circles clashing with his Armani watch in a way that seemed to transform Gavin from a plastic God to a simply god-like man. Jeremy couldn’t help but laugh, which immediately made Gavin’s eyebrows shoot up.

Jeremy waves his hand, shaking his head, “Sorry, your nose just looks so much bigger when you’re not wearing sunglasses.”

Gavin squawks, indignant, and reaches to put his sunglasses back on before Jeremy catches his hand to stop him. “Sorry, just let me look for another second, then you can put them back on. I can never see your whole face.”

A memory of his dream flashes back in his head. Now, the handcuffs behind his back are unlocked, Gavin’s face complete and hand reaching out. Jeremy can walk now, and Gavin becomes clearer and clearer the closer he steps. All the gunfire is ceased as he looks at him, hand pressed against his as Gavin floats down from the air and down to Earth.

Oh, fuck. He’s dragged back into the present by the fact that the warmth against his hand seems a little too real. It turns out he was subconsciously pinning Gavin’s hand to the cushion so he couldn’t reach up again. Gavin was bright red, his usual smirk replaced by parted lips.

Jeremy pulls away abruptly, flattening his back against the window and pushing his hand behind him. He could feel heat rising up his neck, ears burning. He looks away, trying to act casual and most likely failing. “Damn, the rest of the crew is probably wondering where we are, we shouldn’t keep them waiting.” _You were the one that stopped him from leaving, idiot._

Gavin nods vigorously, “Yes, definitely, don’t want Geoff to worry more than he already does, he’ll pop a blood vessel.”

Jeremy agrees, hand beginning to reach for the door handle before slowing. He hesitates before clearing his throat, “Ah, but you should leave the shades off more often, you look good.” _Gross, stop._ “I mean, like, you don’t look bad, so don’t be self-conscious or anything.” _You’re not his therapist, what?_ “I really gotta piss so I’m gonna run ahead while you, uh, finish up here, see you later,” he says, so fast that he stumbles over his words. _No, go ahead, keep making a fool of yourself Jeremy, dumbass,_ he curses to himself as he pushes open the door and practically sprints to the door leading down into the base.

He leaves a bewildered Gavin behind him.

* * *

He stares at the ceiling, fingers intertwined on his stomach. His sheets are laid sloppily over his legs, having been kicked away at some point in last night’s tossing and turning.

It was an “off day” for the crew. They have a very unconventional schedule because of their unconventional job, but Geoff always makes sure to schedule a few “off days” every month. Not everyone has work to do every work day, so they really have personal days more often than a few times a month, but Jeremy assumes Gavin started disrupting Michael’s work when Michael was working and he wasn’t and Geoff decided he needed to get rid of them together sometimes. And because Geoff is dragged into all work problems regardless of if he’s on duty or not, he probably needs some way to get them out of his hair. Or at least stop them from blowing too many things up when he’s sunbathing.

Jeremy could spend hours thanking Geoff and kissing the ground below his feet for putting this off day directly after the awkward moment with Gavin so that he doesn’t have to see him for a while. He legitimately considers committing himself to the Lord for a few minutes. _God, you may have fucked with me in the past, but damn you’re a lifesaver today._

He went through a lot of stages the previous evening. He found an excuse to go home as soon as possible, mumbling something about leaving a refrigerator running before sprinting home and locking himself in his dark apartment. His chest was seizing, emotions bubbling out his chest. For some reason, he was filled with adrenaline, and his fight or flight response clearly chose flight.

He put some loud wrestling match on the tv and started stress eating celery and peanut butter in front of it until his pulse began to steady, distracted from dumb emotions by clashes and yells. When the match ended, he found himself with a lot less stress and a lot less celery. The next step was convincing himself that he was being overly dramatic.

He took a breath in, eyes straying from the wrestling commentators babbling about punches. He began to rethink what happened. _All that happened is I asked Gavin a little bit more about himself and he showed it to me. Which, it was just his eyes, not his deep inner history or the inside of his anus. Nothing happened there._

Which, in a way, was true. Jeremy was fine with Gavin’s eyes. It made him happy to see them. They were pretty and fit his face perfectly, and the nervous, secretive way Gavin acted about them made seeing them seem illicit and thrilling. It was like Gavin was sharing with him a secret, trusting him enough to show a part of himself. Even if he did it while emotionally closing up and masking his thoughts with fake nonchalance.

No, that wasn’t what had gotten to him. That would just leave him a little happy and a little red, like a high schooler when the boy they admired got a little closer to them. It was the tiny touch they shared that rocked Jeremy to his core.

He’s always had problems with physical contact, never fully understanding how much to give or how to comprehend it. He recognized this problem as a teenager, when he was always having issues understanding his occasional fondness for a mentor or friend and had no clue how to deal with the feelings. A few years into adulthood, he realized his mixed emotions came from the lack of open affection his parents showed him. This resulted in a young adult who had no idea how to show other people he admired them. He stopped and started laughing in the middle of the street the day he realized this, recognizing in particular the high school year where he thought he wanted to bang a teacher but he really just wanted attention and a hug.

It’s a little depressing when people put it into words, but he’s always been more amused by the idea than saddened by it. When he was 19, stuck in a jail cell for the night because of rowdy behavior, he thought about how a shitty psychiatrist would dissect his childhood in an attempt to explain his violence. He can understand that he’s prone to violent aggression if someone hurts the people he cares about, but he isn’t sold on any “punching someone substitutes hugs” bullshit.

He shakes his head, trying to get his mind back on topic. What was it about touching Gavin’s hand that made him so manic? It’s almost absurd how little got him worked up.

Maybe he’s a little touch-starved. Not surprising, that would explain the tight yearning in his chest. Maybe the proximity to him; he’s sure he’s never been that close to him. Perhaps he got overwhelmed because of aforementioned touch-starved-ness. Maybe it’s the fact that he was pining his hand down and slipping out of his seat to crowd into his space and it felt more than a little like the beginning of a steamy movie sex scene. It seems a bit too early in their character development for that though.

Jeremy smacks a hand on his face, rubbing his fingers over his eyes. No, God, what was he even thinking? He’s not going to have sex with Gavin. That would be wildly unprofessional and super awkward. And he’s not even into him that way, he barely even wants to be friends.

Gavin probably isn’t gay, but even if he is he wouldn’t be for _Jeremy_. No; if he was gay he would be with Michael for sure. Or they would at least have had sex once, just because of proximity and how touchy-feely-lovey they are. Jeremy wrinkles his nose, pushing the thoughts from his mind. Gavin needs to stay an asexual, aphysical concept.

A devilish part of Jeremy’s brain, the fugitive that he can never seem to squish no matter how hard he tries or how many wanted posters he puts up, seems to slip in again, whispered words sliding through Jeremy’s bones: _he did seem a little into it, though._ It pulls into memory the tinge of pink on his cheeks, the heat radiating off of him and the way he stilled, waiting for Jeremy’s next move. His parted lips, his shallow breaths, his wide pupils.

No.

He shoves away the thought. He was surprised and confused, and any tiny twitches Jeremy’s trying to derive meaning from are either meaningless or never happened. He can see it now: Gavin trotting up to him on the next day of work, throwing his arms out and asking, with a laugh, why he freaked out the other day. Gavin would make fun of him, he would be embarrassed, and that whole incident will be behind them. And maybe now Gavin will take off his sunglasses more around him. He’d love to see how devilish his eyes go when he’s wrecking havoc around the town.

His phone buzzes against the floor, dragging him out of his daydream. He picks it up, arm propped behind his head.

>>Ryan: Are we still on for getting food?

He flops his head back. Oh yeah, they were going to go out together. They planned it a week ago, when Geoff announced they were going to have a free day and everyone instantly started arranging plans; Michael with Gavin and Lindsay, and Jack with Geoff. Ryan and Jeremy were awkwardly twiddling their thumbs in the back, the outliers of the group, which led Jeremy to cough and ask if he wanted to grab drinks somewhere. Ryan agreed. It was gonna be the first time Jeremy spent time with a crew member outside of work hours, other than playing xBox games with Michael in the base.

>>Jeremy: Yeah, sorry, you have a place in mind? Idk any recommendations.  
>>Ryan: Yeah. It’s easy to overlook and parking’s a bitch, so we can meet at the base and I’ll drive you there.  
>>Jeremy: Ok, sounds good. 7 ok?  
>>Ryan: Sounds good, see you then.

Jeremy starts to set down his phone and peel himself out of bed to end his self-reflection session, before his phone buzzes again. He props himself up on one hand and opens his phone again.

>>Ryan: Wear clothes you’re not afraid to get dirty.

* * *

When he got to the base, Ryan was standing outside in ragged dad jeans and a t-shirt, hair tied loosely in a messy bun. It’s strange, seeing him look so human while knowing he’s killed a quite a few men in his day and is prone to bouts of icy and creepy wickedness.

Jeremy gets a little pep in his step as he trots over to him; it’s kind of exciting that it seems like he’s actually making a good friend. Look at him go! Turning the Vagabond into a regular guy, seeing that side of him. He’s like a regular ol’ cool guy.

When he steps closer, and Ryan looks up from his phone, Jeremy does notice he still has eyeshadow around his eyes, a casual splash of darkness that Jeremy assumes he simply couldn’t go without. But he doesn’t have on any real paint, and the eyeshadow kinda looks like a punk stylistic choice. It’s funny.

Ryan raises his eyebrows at him before starting towards a slim black vehicle that is presumably his, saying, “You were just on time, to the minute. I’m impressed.”

Jeremy trails after him. He’s wearing paint-stained sweatpants and a black tank top with some beat up sneakers; one of his true Bostonian street rat outfits. “I actually left a little late, traffic was just helpfully light.”

Ryan pops open the driver’s side door, sliding in. “Traffic light at 7 on a Saturday? That doesn’t sound realistic,” He says, a sly smile adorning his face as he slid his keys into the ignition and started the car.

Jeremy smiles, hopping in the car after him and slamming the door shut. “Traffic was light enough for me to drive around the other cars.”

“That sounds more like it.”

They talk pretty regularly throughout the car ride, about mundane things, like how dumb some celebrities were or how celebrity gossip in and of itself was dumb or how Jeremy saw a poodle that was shaved in a way that made him look just like Michael. Jeremy’s relieved that he doesn’t bring up his sudden departure the day before or anything involving Gavin -- not that he thought he would, since nothing truly unusual happened. It seems Ryan didn’t notice anything at all, though it’s unclear if that says more about Ryan or the situation itself.

Jeremy squints out the window as Ryan pulls along the side of a road downtown and parks. It’s not near any bars he knows of; it’s on the outskirts of the downtown district, a quieter urban area with some kids playing basketball in an overgrown parking lot nearby. They climb out the car, Jeremy shoving his hands in his pockets as he watches them while Ryan locks the car behind him. He turns back to Ryan to find him with his eyebrow raised. “You wanting to skip out on drinks to play b-ball?”

Jeremy flushes, jogging over to Ryan’s side as they start walking down a sparsely populated side road. “No, it just reminds me of when I was a teenager, y’know?” He pauses. He doesn’t really know anything about Ryan’s youth.

Ryan nods, hands sliding into his own pockets. “Most of the driveways where I lived were gravel, so basketball wasn’t really the big sport of the kids. At least, I don’t think it was. I spent a lot of time in the woods.”

Jeremy looks at him, secretly giddy over the idea of learning about Ryan as a real human child. He’s already giddy because he can see Ryan mask-less in real human clothes, imagine being able to picture him as a real human child! “Where’d you grow up?”

“Georgia,” Ryan says, mindlessly, before slowing to a stop in front of a door and opening it for Jeremy. Jeremy looks around; it doesn’t stick out much, no outside seating area or massive neon lights. There’s a simple chalkboard fold-out sign next to the door advertising pumpkin cupcakes, and the word “Maria’s” elegantly painted in cursive above the door. It’s certainly not what Jeremy was expecting.

He walks in and is immediately swept up in the dark, warm atmosphere and the intoxicating smell of vanilla and sweet liqueurs. Light alternative rock plays over the speakers tucked into the corners of the bookcases lining the walls. Shelves form little enclaves with isolated booths, and polished wood tables are scattered around the center of the shop. It seems homely, and Jeremy feels strangely relaxed despite being in a place he’s never been surrounded by chatting people he’s never seen.

Ryan’s hand presses against his back, pulling him out of his daze and gently urging him forward. “Sorry if you were planning on bar hopping, but I promise this place is amazing.” Jeremy nods, following him to the counter across the room.

The woman at the counter smiles as she sees Ryan, her curly hair tied back in a bun, a few curls free to frame her face. She has dark brown skin, face kind and freckled. “Ryan, it’s nice to see you again! Do you want the usual?”

Jeremy suddenly feels like he’s on a wildlife expedition, watching the actions of Ryan in his natural habitat. Or, more like, he’s looking inside Ryan’s home and is seeing a part of him he’s unsure if he’s allowed to see. Ryan beams back, nodding, “It’s good to see you too, Imani, work’s been a bitch lately.” _Word_. “Toss in half a loaf of pumpkin bread, too. I brought a coworker today, and I need to dazzle him.”

Jeremy flushes, waving weakly at her. She waves back at him. She’s very pretty. He wonders if Ryan is involved with her and his stomach lurches uncomfortably. Ryan, all domestic like this, dressed in lazy dad clothes with a smile, is somehow more disconcerting than him as the Vagabond. Ryan hands her a 20 and steps to the side, hovering while Jeremy orders.

“Can I have, uh, an Old Fashioned bourbon and your drink of the day?” Jeremy says, fishing his credit card out his wallet.

“Name?”

“Jeremy.” She nods and, after punching a few buttons, hands him his receipt. Jeremy walks over to Ryan, who leads him over to a table in one of the enclaves in the corner, next to a window. He slides into a chair as Ryan takes one opposite him.

“Lot of books here,” Jeremy says, suddenly conscious of how one-on-one the conversation is. There’s no drunk dancing he can point at if it gets uncomfortable, and no television blaring sports. It’s a good, quiet hole-in-the-wall shop with the tittering of various conversations and casual music swelling around them. It’s terrifying.

“It used to be a bookstore,” Ryan says, looking around the room appreciatively. “It was converted into a cafe four years ago because books weren’t really selling. Now it has a library system.” He looks up and thanks Imani again as she comes over and sets down their drinks. Ryan, apparently, got a frothy cup of coffee and a can of coke. “Which is nice, given the location.”

Jeremy nods. He wouldn’t have spent any of his little money on books when he was growing up inner-city. “I didn’t imagine it as your sort of place,” Jeremy admits, lifting the house drink to his lips. It’s some kind of cool peach and vodka drink. It warms his stomach, and the vodka lights a refreshing fire in his throat. It’s nice.

“What would you have imagined?” Ryan asks, slurping his coffee and distorting the cute leaf painted on the foam floating on top.

Jeremy pauses. “You know, I’d say some heavy metal biker bar, but this seems much creepy.”

Ryan laughs, a deep, hearty laugh, and nods. “People there are too up their own asses sometimes. Never even really killed a man, just try to fake like they would.”

Jeremy glances around, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth subconsciously. Nobody’s paying attention. He leans in, forearms pressed against the table as he talks, “One time, in Boston, this ripped guy, totally tatted up with skulls and always bragging about how much he can lift and how many people he’d beat up, right, he came up to my friend while I was in the bathroom and started shit talking her, trying to get in her pants because she wasn’t with a guy. So when I came back out, my friend told me he was annoying her. I invited him outside.”

Ryan raises his eyebrows, eyes half-lidded as he listens. He’s resting his cheek on his knuckles, small smile dancing across his lips.

“And lemme tell you, that guy didn’t know one _thing_ about fighting. We were beating on him, my friend more than me, in the alley and he was crying and admitting he was weak and didn’t know how to fight and all that shit. And we really liked this bar, because it played great music and offered a cheap stiff drink, so we kept beating him up, _bam! bam! bam!_ , until he agreed never to come back.” Jeremy leans back, grinning, “This big guy who pretended to be all that couldn’t even land one punch on us.”

Ryan laughs, leaning up and taking another swig of his drink, “I promise you, half of the time the tough-looking guys are just acting to try and look good.” He licks the foam mustache off his top lip then points at himself. “See? Only a true, honest killer would do that.”

Jeremy shakes his head, smiling. “Why are you drinking coffee so late, Ryan?” he asks, momentarily drawn from his questions in his head about the biggest guy Ryan’s ever seen pussy out of a fight.

“I have a lot planned for the night and I need to be awake,” Ryan smiles. “You’re gonna love it.” At some point, Imani had brought around the loaf of bread and Ryan had begun cutting it.

Jeremy lets out an exaggerated breath. “Thank god, I thought I was going to have to get drunk in a coffee shop.”

They go on like that for a while, laughing and telling stories as the minutes stretched into 8. Jeremy learns about the most strangely strong clown Ryan ever saw, and Ryan gets to hear about the time Jeremy was pantsed at his high school graduation. The worry Jeremy had about potential awkwardness floated away as Jeremy started his second drink, happy warmth sliding around his heart and brain and settling in his stomach. He props his head in his hand, cheek against his palm as Ryan finished his coffee and started on his coke. Ryan’s pretty cool.

Jeremy gets up and stretches when their conversation fades into a comfortable lull, wiggling around before leaning down and downing the rest of his bourbon. He feels good. “I’m gonna go piss, the vodka went straight to my bladder,” He says, waving back at Ryan as he wandered across the room and down a hallway to the men’s room.

He chooses a stall, deciding that the urinal was too much work and that he wanted to sit. He doesn’t know why he was so worried about this. Ryan’s a fine, normal guy, with normal, fun stories. He’s almost, almost getting used to seeing him without face paint on. Not yet, though.

When he finishes in the stall and starts washing his hands, he looks at himself in the mirror, tilting his head from side to side. The scratches that had littered his face a few weeks ago were almost fully healed. He was looking pretty good.

He leaves the bathroom to see Ryan leaning against the bar, Imani nowhere to be seen. He trots up to him and they head to the door of the cafe. “You scare Imani away?”

Ryan smiles. Jeremy thinks a dark look crossed his eyes, but he is also a little tipsy, so he chalks it up to an overactive imagination. Ryan holds open the door for him before sliding out with him. “Something like that,” Ryan says, before pausing and adding, “She had to make a call.”

“Oh,” Jeremy says, dumbly. He looks down at the sidewalk as they walk towards Ryan’s car. He looks back up at him, “Are you into her?”

Ryan laughs, shaking his head, “God, no, she’s just a friend. Hell, I only see her there, so we’re really just like the most casual acquaintances. She’s very nice, but she’s not my type.” He looks forward, putting his hands in his pockets and seeming to think carefully about his next words. “I’m more of an ass man, if you catch my drift.”

“Oh, I didn’t look at her butt.”

A smile teases at Ryan’s lips as he looks anywhere but Jeremy. “I mean, I enjoy a rougher touch.”

Jeremy flushes, trying not to imagine Ryan in any sexual situation to the failure of his alcohol-addled brain. “Gross, but yeah I guess she was more nice than, uh, domineering.”

Ryan squints. “I’m generally into people on the other bus, if you get me.”

“I do not. Foreigners?”

“In the words of southern mothers everywhere, folks who are ‘a bit funny,’” Ryan says, pulling open his car door and sliding in.

Jeremy opens his own and gets in. “I mean, yeah, weirdness is hot.”

Ryan doesn’t start the car, instead turning to look at Jeremy with his eyebrows scrunched up and his eyes in a squint, “Did you grow up under a rock or are you fucking with me?”

Jeremy blinks at him. “I have been told I’ve lived under a few rocks.”

Ryan shakes his head, turning away to start the car before looking back at him with raised eyebrows as the car lights up, “How’s this: I fuck men.”

Jeremy flushes, face beet red and ears burning as he tucked his head into his hands, “Oh my God, Ryan, I’m an idiot, sorry.” He laughs, pulling himself up, sliding his hands off his face, “I’m a little in-inebriated. Ha, that’s funny.” Ryan pulls off the curb, not responding. Sensing Ryan’s mild irritation, Jeremy quickly adds, “They just said fag a lot growing up, and I kind of forgot gay people existed for a little while because I haven’t seen anyone for a little while.” He looks out the window, the car silent for a minute, before Jeremy slaps his forehead, “Shit, I’m gay too, sorry, I thought I said it earlier. Ha! God, I haven’t come out for a while, I forgot people didn’t just know.”

Ryan looks over at him, irritation fading away. “Oh, okay. I thought the ‘don’t crush on me’ was coming up.” He looks back at the road, shaking his head with a little amusement, “You’re an idiot.”

Jeremy covers his face again, embarrassed, “Everyone around me back in town already knew, and here I’ve just been getting quick hook ups in gay bars so I don’t have to say anything, and I don’t really have any reason to tell anyone at work, so I completely forgot the process of coming out over the last few months.”

“Hook ups, huh? Glad we didn’t run into each other, that would’ve been horrifically awkward,” Ryan looks over at him again before reaching behind him, eyes on the road as he roots around on the ground of the backseat and pulls out a water bottle. He tosses it to Jeremy, “Here, sober up a little. Let’s keep the sex life talks to a later outing, huh?”

Jeremy opens the water bottle unhappily and downs half of it. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, huffing, “I’m only doing this because I’m thirsty, not to ‘get sober.’ It was two drinks, I’m just tipsy.”

Ryan shrugs, seemingly not caring about why Jeremy was drinking water as long as he was doing it. It’s quiet for a little while, Ryan lost in thought and chewing on his bottom lip absentmindedly. Jeremy perks up after a few minutes. “Where are we going?”

“Oh, we’re almost there. There’s this pretty area on the mountain I think you’d like. People are never there in the dark,” Ryan says, “I’ve been checking it out for a while.”

\--

It’s a small drive down a dirt trail around the mountain before they park next to a secluded area overlooking the city. It’s too far away to see anyone, but the cityscape is nice. Jeremy hops out the car and looks around, appreciating the shady clearing before settling on a bench facing the city. Ryan sits next to him, relaxing against the cool metal.

“It’s nice here,” Jeremy says, muscles loosening. He can see a few stars here despite the light pollution of Los Santos.

“Indeed,” Ryan says, looking at his watch out of the corner of his eye before settling into the seat.

They watch for a while; you can’t hear the city from this far away. Jeremy speaks up after a little while, “It’s so strange, seeing everything like this. Everything is so small in the grand scheme of things, you know? Not everyone really matters.”

“It’s good to think of things that way,” Ryan agrees. He isn’t paying attention fully for a moment, eyes on the road up the mountain, before he rests his arm along the back of the bench. Jeremy feels comfort in the warmth radiating from his arm. “Even we mean nothing in the scale of the whole wide world.”

“I’m not sure that makes me feel better,” Jeremy says, half amused.

“It just means we can commit ourselves more to doing whatever’s needed to clean up the city. The city might have some effect on the world, but individual people certainly won’t,” Ryan says.

Jeremy lets that settle for a few minutes. “That’s true. And it means there’s always more to see in the world.”

“And more corruption around the corner.”

Jeremy looks at Ryan, “You’re not the biggest optimist, are you?”

Ryan cracks a smile at him before leveling his view at the city again. “Not quite.”

Jeremy nods, watching the skyline. “Me neither. But I do like imagining utopia every now and then.”

Ryan hums in acknowledgement. A few minutes pass by before Jeremy feels Ryan’s fingers grazing over the collar of his shirt. Ryan has a hard look over the city as his hand slides onto Jeremy’s shoulder, fingers slipping against the flesh of his shoulder where his collar reveals his skin. Goosebumps rise on the back of Jeremy’s neck.

And then, he hears a gun cock behind them. It’s pointed at the back of Ryan’s head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the feedback!!
> 
> NOTES:  
> -Gavin isn't ashamed of being blind, he just doesn't want Jeremy to view him as weak as a result. Jeremy doesn't realize this, but I wanted to say it so nobody gets the wrong idea. it'd be distasteful if I was just writing him ashamed of it.  
> -yes, that euphemisms about being gay scene was as painful to write as it was to read  
> -I didn't really want to end this chapter here but it was getting very long and very late


	4. Guys Bein' Dudes pt.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized during the Jeremy and Matt fight scene in the first chapter that having multiple attackers of the same gender with no names is confusing and sucks. the attacker's name in this chapter has no significance and exists only to clarify what the fuck's happening
> 
> warning for homophobic slurs and graphic depictions of violence

Jeremy’s lips part, his body stiffening. The man with the gun at Ryan’s head is shaking, seething, hands clenched around the pistol. There’s another guy behind him, arms crossed and eyes hard. Jeremy looks back at Ryan, eyes terrified, to find Ryan still watching over the city.

“Get up,” the man grunts, before clearing his throat and shouting, “Get up!”

Jeremy slowly stands up and turns around, hands up in a surrender. Ryan does the same, though painstakingly slower. Every part of Jeremy’s body, down to the atom, feels like it’s coming apart, every part of him screaming to do something. He needs to be in control. He wishes the gun was on him instead.

“You,” the man says, voice quivering, “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Ryan says simply, eyes cool. “I just gave her photos.”

“How’d you get into my phone?” he cries out. Jeremy feels dizzy.

“Easy password. Your birthday? Really?” he laughs and shakes his head, “I would advise you to make a stronger passcode next time. That is, if you have a next time in your future.”

Jeremy’s heart jumps into his throat. He makes a small haggard noise.

The man shoves the muzzle of the pistol against Ryan’s forehead, hands shaking. “How are you threatening me when you have a gun to your head? You _ruined my life_. I have nothing left to lose.”

“Surely that’s an over exaggeration. You have a whole ‘nother set of girls, clearly Imani wasn’t special to you.”

Jeremy eyes point sharply at Ryan. What the fuck did he miss when he was in the bathroom?

“Those other girls were just for sex, they were nothing!” the man spat, “I don’t care about them.”

Ryan tuts. “That’s not a nice way to treat someone.”

“Why are you so calm?” the man cries out, shoving the gun harder against Ryan’s forehead, “Are you an _idiot_?”

Ryan laughs. In one swift movement, he pulls his hands down and smacks the man’s gun away from his forehead. He wrenches the man’s arm in the wrong direction, forcing his fingers to release and stepping around the bench as he disarms him. The man in the back moves forward, but not quick enough. Ryan tosses the gun over his shoulder. It thuds down the mountain into the brush below.

“You had the safety on,” Ryan says, sighing heavily. “It’s clearly not your gun. You had no idea what to do with it. Next time,” he says, gesturing with his head at the guy in the back, “get your friend to handle the gun, Liam. It would make this much more fun.”

The man, apparently named Liam, surges forward, hands reaching out to wrap around Ryan’s neck. His fingers barely brush against Ryan’s skin before Ryan is tucking his chin down and pulling away, neatly stepping out of the way before loosely crouching and sucker-punching Liam in the stomach. He’s barely able to celebrate his victory before he’s tackled to the ground by the other man.

He hits the ground with a loud thud, the air leaving his lungs. The man presses his knee into his back and shoves his head against the dirt, fingers kneaded in his hair. Ryan huffs, cheek pressed into the gravel.

_They’ve all forgotten about me._

Jeremy dashes forward, jumping onto the bench, one foot on the seat, the next foot on the back, and leaps off of it, landing with his feet on Liam’s back. Liam flails as he’s smashed into the dirt, heaving, before Jeremy rolls off of him and pulls him up by the shoulder to slam his fist into his face. Liam grunts, hand fumbling in his back pocket and pulling out a switchblade before Jeremy can stop him. He’s still pressed into the ground, wriggling to get up, the metal flashing in Jeremy’s eye. Jeremy tries to skitter backwards to avoid the knife, but Liam slashes a gash across his chest before he can move away.

Jeremy hisses, moving to his feet and sparing a glance at Ryan again before sprinting in his direction. The man seems to have been expecting him, as he quickly leaps off of Ryan’s back to dodge Jeremy’s foot. He launches his fist towards Jeremy and Jeremy easely counters it with his forearm, forcing his arm out the way before slamming his fist into the man’s stomach.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jeremy sees Ryan stumble to his feet and slide something into Jeremy’s back pocket before hopping, pulling his arm back, and socking Liam in the face.

The man slams his forehead into Jeremy’s nose and forces Jeremy to stumble back, using his momentary stunning to land a fist on his jaw. Jeremy dives to the side, ignoring the pain filling his head and the blood running down his lip. He focuses on the rush of adrenaline, vision narrowing. He tucks his chin down, subconsciously falling into his boxing stance before landing a quick punch to his stomach. As the man pulls his hands to foolishly guard his stomach, Jeremy smashes a clenched fist against his cheek, then his chin, then another to his throat.

The man stumbles back, gasping unsuccessfully for air, and Jeremy surges forward and grabs the top of his head, slamming it down onto the corner of the bench. The man crumbles onto his side, blood spewing from his head and rolling over the fingers he clenched over the wound. Jeremy steps on his arm, forcing him onto his back and dragging a cry from him.

His fingers dive around his neck, thumbs hooked around his windpipe and the butt of his palm crushing his trachea. The man throws a weak punch at Jeremy’s face, then another at his stomach. Jeremy doesn’t move, just pressing harder and harder against his throat as the man tries to gasp and can’t. His mouth is gaping as he digs his nails in the crook of Jeremy’s neck, digging deep, bloody crescents in a last ditch attempt to stop him. Jeremy can taste the blood in his mouth, hear the blood rushing in his ears, and feel the cracks in the cartilage of the man’s throat as the man’s actions weaken. His hand falls to his side, eyes staring blankly into the sky as life leaves his body.

Jeremy’s dragged out of his tunnel vision by a yell from Liam. He whips his head around to find Liam with his arm around Ryan’s chest and a knife to Ryan’s throat. Ryan’s eyes are half-lidded, lip swollen and broken with blood running down his chin. He’s gazing at Jeremy, but he doesn’t look scared. His gaze feels sticky and hot, the look of a man filled with overwhelming, bestial euphoria. He was elated. He was proud.

The knife digs into Ryan’s skin, beads of blood raising along the blade’s edge.

“Let him go!” Liam growls, glaring daggers into Jeremy. Jeremy looks down at the man below him. It’s a bit late for that. He was not getting up no matter what Jeremy did.

Jeremy gingerly pulls himself up and off of the body, stepping towards Liam. He was covered in blood splatters, his tank top drenched in red. He puts his hands up in a faux surrender, slowly creeping towards Liam. “He’s fine,” Jeremy lies, stepping towards him, “Let go of Ryan and we can go our separate ways.” That was also a lie.

Liam glances back at his friend, before looking back at Jeremy. Jeremy’s lucky the guy’s so inexperienced, because he did not leave his friend in the most alive-looking situation. Liam pushes his chin up and sneers, plastering confidence on his face again. “Imani told me about your little friend here,” he taunts, “heard he was a big cocksucker. You heard that?”

Jeremy shakes in anger, fists clenching at his sides as he steps ever closer. He doesn’t respond. His teeth clench together so hard he feels like they could break.

Liam tuts, “So you have. Figures. You did seem mighty close when we showed up. Seems like you’re both fags.”

Ryan’s sliding one hand up, out of Liam’s eyesight. He’s reaching towards the knife at his neck.

“You are pretty short too.” He laughs. “Maybe you’re his little cuntboy.”

In one swift motion, Ryan wraps a hand around Liam’s forearm and forces it forward, lifting the knife from his neck and twisting his arm behind his back. At the same time, Jeremy is lurching forward, hand reaching into his back pocket to find the small dagger Ryan stashed there. He immediately slips it out and plunges it into Liam’s stomach as he shoves his free hand against his collarbone. Liam falls back, lips parted in a yell that Jeremy doesn’t hear.

He falls with Liam, slamming on top of him and gripping his fingers into his collarbone as he lifts his knife from Liam’s stomach and stabs it higher on his body. He pulls it out again, and slams it between his ribs, then stabs between another set of ribs, then another, puncturing his heart. He digs into his heart, adrenaline coursing through his blood as he pulls out and slashes open his shirt. He cuts an X over his heart, stabbing the mark over and over and digging a hole into his chest. All he can see is red, and all he can feel is sticky flesh and gore.

It’s like he can’t think. All he can do is stab, fingernails digging into his chest as he killed the man over, and over, and over again. All he can see is red.

He almost doesn’t notice the fingers ghosting against his neck and starting to rake through his hair. His stabs become slower, weaker, shallower, until he stops, shaking hand clenched around the hilt of the blade dug deep into meat. His breathing is fast, heavy; he can’t tell if the liquids he feels on his skin is sweat, or blood, or tears, or gore. He can’t think.

The only this he can feel is the warmth on the back of his head, the fingers combing through his matted hair. He closes his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. He lets go of the knife, hands slipping to press into the body’s abdomen. His breathing starts to slow. The fingers are slow, gentle, coaxing him to relax. He can hear gravel crunch as Ryan kneels behind him and slides his hands over Jeremy’s, gently tugging his hands away from the body to instead settle on his knees.

Jeremy’s in enough of a right mind to pull himself off of the body, rocks digging into his palms as he drags himself away to sit on the ground, faced towards the mountain instead of the recently-deceased man. Ryan settles behind him, hands running over his shoulders and down his arms.

At some point, Jeremy knows he’s in Ryan’s car. He thinks Ryan loaded up the trunk. He decides he’ll let Ryan handle that. His mind is filled with nothing.

He knows they’re moving, but he doesn’t talk, and neither does Ryan. He remembers Ryan’s eyes, half-lidded and filled with hot excitement as the knife drew blood from his neck. His eyes slide over to Ryan’s throat. He has a bloody laceration there, but it’s only skin-deep.

At some point, Ryan pulls into the garage of the crew’s base. He helps Jeremy into the elevator, and leads him into the med-bay. The bay is abandoned, just like the rest of the base, eery fluorescent lights glowing against the artificial whites around him. He’s alone for a few minutes before Ryan comes back with tub of warm water and a washcloth.

He’s more in the moment now, but he lets Ryan wipe the blood off his forehead with the washcloth.

“You planned that.”

Ryan doesn’t respond immediately, choosing instead to wipe at the blood drying around Jeremy’s nose. “I did.”

“You said you had a surprise planned for me.”

Ryan nods, continuing to clean his face, “I did. That was it.”

Jeremy’s silent for a few minutes. Ryan cleans around his jaw, down his neck. He turns and rinses the washcloth in the basin before letting it float in the pink water. “How long had you planned this?”

Ryan pulls out scissors, gazing at them for a moment before cutting Jeremy’s tank top open. It clings to his skin as Ryan pulls it off. Jeremy winces, resting back on his hands as Ryan cuts the shoulder straps and it falls off his body. “I’ve always been unsatisfied with what I saw of you in missions. I knew you could do greater; I saw your raw cruelty and _power_ when you were protecting your friend Matt, when we first picked you up. I wanted to see it again.”

Jeremy hisses as Ryan ran the wet cloth over his chest, head lolling back and eyes squeezing shut. Ryan continues talking as he works, cleaning away the blood matted in his chest hair. “But I really decided to take matters into my own hands when I saw your distress over not being able to help Gavin when he was shot on the mission.” He slows as he starts to clean over the gash itself, Jeremy’s chest heaving with pain underneath the cloth. “You’re very protective. It’s admirable.”

“Thanks,” Jeremy grits out, pulling his head up again to look at Ryan, “But it’s not really protection if the guy you’re protecting puts himself in that position purposefully.”

Ryan pouts, his motions suddenly becoming less gentle. Jeremy gasps and pushes his head back against the bed as pain burns through the cut on his chest. Ryan goes back to gentleness after that, ignoring Jeremy’s comment. “You knew I caused it. You deduced it. Yet you still lashed out, overwhelmed by anger because I had a knife to my neck. Why?”

Jeremy grits his teeth, “Maybe I thought the look in your eye wasn’t happiness for a split second. Maybe I gave you the benefit of the doubt.”

Ryan hums, setting the soiled washcloth to the side and pulling out a fresh one to dab Jeremy’s chest dry. “Or maybe you wanted to kill him regardless of whether or not I was in danger.”

Jeremy sets his jaw, resting his back against the bed and staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t respond. Ryan pulls out a box of butterfly bandages and begins to lay some out next to him. “Maybe you wanted him dead as much as I did.” Ryan’s voice fades to a murmur, “Maybe you secretly liked the violence.”

“Who was he?” Jeremy asks, interrupting him. Ryan seems disappointed.

He starts to open the bandages, squeezing the edges of Jeremy’s cut together and laying down a butterfly bandage to keep it closed. He unwraps another, moving his hand down to squeeze lower on the cut. “He was Imani’s boyfriend. I saw him at a bar with some other girls, so I got into his phone when he was busy and found lots of pictures of him with other girls and text messages. I sent them to myself and waited to show them to Imani until you were with me.” He smiles to himself, “I gave Imani a note saying where I’d be at 9 knowing that her boyfriend would follow me there.”

Ryan continues laying the bandages, Jeremy’s fists clenched in the sheets to keep himself from grunting from pain. “I honestly didn’t know if I was going to be able to get him,” Ryan admits. “I wanted him because he was bratty and homophobic, but I didn’t know how to draw him away or get him to threaten me. I was really lucky he was cheating, it made the set-up much easier.”

Ryan finishes closing the wound and cleans off the wet washcloth again before scrubbing the blood off Jeremy’s arms. Jeremy’s suddenly exhausted. “What made you think I would want this?” Jeremy sighs, eyes closed with bags underneath.

“You’re like me,” Ryan says, simply. He stands up, apparently deciding he was done. Every part of Jeremy hurts. Ryan pulls the water basin away, dumping it in a sink nearby and tossing the washcloths into a basket of soiled towels. He hands the box of butterfly bandages to Jeremy before heading for the door. “Apply more if you need. I’m going to get rid of the bodies. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, Ryan’s gone, out the door, the thudding of his shoes getting quieter and quieter as he gets farther away.

It takes Jeremy an hour to get home. He has to peel himself out of bed, rooting through the unlocked cabinets to load himself up with ibuprofen. He hobbles down to the elevator and down into the garage, getting into the car he left there before meeting up with Ryan. When he gets home, he manages to down a glass of whiskey and peel off his bloodied shoes and sweatpants before collapsing into his bed and passing out.

* * *

He arrives at the base a bit later than normal the next day.

Not for any good reason; he woke up early than normal, aching and sore. His chest was a little swollen and crusty with dried blood; he should’ve put on real bandages the night before. He dawdled around his apartment for a long time, making coffee and standing around longer than he needed to despite the pain. He showered, bent awkwardly to avoid getting too much water on his chest, unsuccessfully. He got out the shower unhappy and bleeding again.

He plastered some big bandaids on his chest and threw on a new, clean orange shirt. He resigned himself to forcing Caleb to fix him up properly, before sitting on his bed to slowly slide on a pair of jeans. He adorned himself in a gold chain, rings, and a pair of aviators. He stood around a little longer, eating a protein bar lazily, before eventually heading to the base.

He pulled up a few seconds after Gavin, meeting up with him at the elevator doors. He had completely forgotten about all the awkwardness of two days prior, just relieved to see someone relatively normal, whatever that means in their profession. He waves his hand, walking a little faster to meet up with him. “Hey, Gavin!”

Gavin’s head whips around, a smile spreading across his face. He seems a little relieved that Jeremy is acknowledging him, his shoulders loosening. He must’ve also had weird yesterday. “Jeremy!” he exclaims, eyebrow immediately raising. “Why are you wearing sunglasses? That’s my thing.”

Jeremy stops next to him and shakes his head, “Yesterday was weird, man. You don’t want to see much of me, trust me.” He slides his sunglasses up into his hair, revealing his dark under eye circles and the dark purple bruises splattering his cheek and eye. His nose is more clearly red and swollen when his whole face is shown, too. “Speaking of yesterday, is Caleb here?”

Gavin winces, “Yikes, Lil’ J, you get mauled by a bear?” He steps into the elevator and mashes the button for the penthouse, Jeremy joining him. “I think he’s here.”

Jeremy scratches at the back of his neck, the memories of straddling Liam and stabbing into his heart returning. “Something like that.” He lifts up his shirt, showing the mass of bandages covering his bruised torso, “Bear taught me I can’t be a doctor.”

Gavin sucks his breath in through his teeth, leaning away as the elevator dings and the door opens. He starts walking out into the common area, Jeremy following after him. “What did you do yesterday?”

Jeremy tucks his shirt back down and glances around the common room. He sees Ryan leaning on a bar and snacking on a muffin, his back to them. He can tell Ryan has his mask on, and that he’s listening. Jeremy also knows that he could tell Gavin, and Ryan would not invite him out again.

“I got into a bar fight,” Jeremy lies, eyes sliding from Ryan back to Gavin. “Turns out the guy had a knife. I won anyway.” Ryan takes another bite out of his muffin.

Gavin shakes his head and sighs, leading Jeremy through to the medbay. “Figures. Jeremy, that’s _dangerous_. You should’ve had back up,” he whines.

Jeremy snatches away Gavin’s sunglasses, “Invite me out next time then. Though, I don’t think I’d be the back up if I had to take care of your ass.”

Gavin squawks, grabbing Jeremy’s arm and snatching his sunglasses back from him. He huffs, plopping them back on his nose. “Don’t do that, Jeremy,” he scolds, crossing his arms.

They turn down an empty hallway. “Why not? You know it’s unfair that I can’t tell if you’re rolling your eyes at me or not.”

Gavin furrows his eyebrows and thinks. After hesitating, he says, “Fine, just do it when we’re sitting or something. It’s weird when it happens with I’m, like, moving.”

Jeremy raises his eyebrow at him but decides not to question it. At least he gets that much. “Deal.”

They enter the medbay, the white, sterile environment filled their nostrils and brain with suffocating chemicals. For a room dedicated to fixing people up, it always does feel stifling.

Caleb turns around and gestures vaguely to Jeremy, who’s taking off his shirt and setting it to the side. Caleb sighs, defeated, “Come on, it was your day off. That’s supposed to be a day of _rest_ and _healing_.”

“I think I missed that part in the employee handbook,” Jeremy says dryly. Caleb shakes his head.

“What happened to you?”

“Mauled by a bear.”

“Bar fight,” Gavin translates helpfully. Jeremy’s glad he’s there to believe his lies and therefore validate them.

Caleb tuts, peeling off the mess of bandaids on Jeremy’s chest. Jeremy grimaces, putting a hand back to support himself. “Yeah, that’s gonna get infected if you leave it like that. It’s already very inflamed.” He throws the ball of bandages into a trash can. “Butterfly bandages were smart, though.”

Jeremy purses his lips. Yippee, Ryan’s the best. Listen, Jeremy tried his best.

Caleb clears his throat and Jeremy follows his gaze over to Gavin. He’s suddenly aware of the fact that Gavin had been staring at him, eyes rolling over his back, and arms, and chest instead of leaving. Gavin jumps, red, and nods vigorously, turning on his heel and waving over his head, “Sorry, I’ll let the doctor work! Good luck, lil’ J!”

Jeremy looks back at Caleb as the door slid closed. Caleb just shakes his head and sighs.

* * *

The main gang ended up collected in the common room around eleven, Jack tying her hair into a loose bun as she got steadily more irritated by the conversation surrounding her.

“The easy fact of the matter, is that you’re an idiot.” Geoff says, ending the sentence with a puff from his cigar.

“It’s not my fault that ducks are just aquatic chickens and you won’t accept it,” Jeremy says, scraping the dried blood and dirt from under his fingernails.

Geoff throws up his hands in exasperation as Gavin joins Jeremy’s side: “They’re, like, the exact same size, they make loud noises, they’re kind of annoying, and you can eat ‘em both.”

Geoff makes a gesture to someone behind Jeremy, pleading, “Ryan, you’re a science guy, can you please tell these children that ducks and chickens are not the same species.”

This is the first time Jeremy and Ryan have really been near each other since yesterday.

Ryan seems to think for a moment, eyeing both teams behind his mask. “Maybe,” he starts slowly, “they are.” Geoff starts to cry out indignantly before Ryan holds up a finger. “But,” he continues, “We’ll have to clarify our reasoning for why they are similar. Because humans also make loud noises, are annoying, and you can eat them. For example, Gavin.”

Gavin cries out, “Ryan! You wouldn’t eat me!”

“Hmm… You never know,” Ryan clasps his fingers around Gavin’s shoulders and then rubs his mask against the side of Gavin’s head, “ _Nom nom nom nom_.”

Gavin squawks, shoving Ryan away and ushering in a bout of laughter from him. Gavin crosses his arms and turns around as Michael walks in and plops on the couch. Gavin skitters next to him, sitting and leaning against him, upset, “Michael, did you just hear Ryan threaten to eat me?”

“Yep,” Michael says, nonplussed. He takes a bite out of his sandwich and says, muffled, “You should be very afraid of him.”

Gavin squawks again, unhappy, and falls into arguing with Michael. Ryan sidles up next to Jeremy. There’s a small amount of tension before Ryan asks, quietly, “Are you okay?”

The tension breaks. Jeremy sighs, turning away from the rest of the crew and leaning against the back of the couch. “Yeah, I think I just got a little overwhelmed yesterday.” He hesitates, “I think being thrown on the defensive when I was so, y’know, plainclothes was weird.”

Ryan nods, leaning against the couch as well. “It helps to be in the mindset. Did you ever find a get-up?”

Jeremy grins, “Yeah, I have one. It’s wicked. You’re gonna hate it.”

Ryan laughs, “Great, can’t wait.” He pauses before lowering his voice even further, “Meet me in the armory later?”

A part of Jeremy knows he’s just getting back in the feel of being a real human, and that Ryan has a inconceivable ability to screw that up. A moment goes by before Jeremy murmurs his reply: “Yes.”

“Hey, lovebirds, and lovebirds part two,” Jack says, raising her voice and pointing at Gavin and Michael then Ryan and Jeremy.

“We were just talking,” Gavin grumbles before Jack interrupts him.

“I don’t care. I just care about the fact that we get _anything_ done this week. So let’s actually start brainstorming.” A long chorus of exaggerated groans follows Jack’s command.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ryan's... messy
> 
> it is at this point i must ask if anyone would be willing to be a beta reader for this fic! up until this point, i've been reading and fixing what i wrote two months ago. now that i'm at the end of what i have already written, i have to write as i post. this means i won't be able to read this objectively and therefore won't know what is unclear or what i need to correct. if any kind soul would be willing to beta pls either message me on tumblr @ gayfahc (preferred) or leave a comment saying where i can find you


	5. Guys Bein' Dudes REDUX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late chapter, I wanted to update weekly but it turns out that people have other responsibilities they have to attend to? I know, it's ridiculous. 
> 
> thank you to [myarmada](http://archiveofourown.org/users/myarmada) for being a beta reader for this fic!

>>Jeremy: Bevs @ 9ish? Nothing crazy, just a couple after-work beers.

Jeremy hops down the stairs into the armory. Ryan has his mask off, face paint lazier today. He is sat in the back corner of the room, on the ground, sharpening a set of knives. He seems to have gotten quite a few done already. Jeremy sits opposite him.

Ryan finishes sharpening the knife he had been working on and rubs it down with a thick towel before setting it to the side. He looks up at Jeremy and he pauses, cool and calm eyes trained on him. He folds his hands together, “I think you’ve been repressing what happened.”

Jeremy blinks, sitting up straight. “I’m not repressing it. I’m just trying to go back to living a normal, casual life, and the memory doesn’t really, like, meld with that.”

Ryan shakes his head before leaning his head on his hand, elbow propped on his thigh. “You’re repressing your feelings. You know what happened. Murder happens in our industry. You just don’t know how to face it.”

Jeremy stiffens, slightly offended. “I’ve been knocking out guys since I was seven, and this is not the first kill I’ve had while not on a job. I think I know how to handle my feelings.”

The slightest amusement plays over Ryan’s face. “I trust you. But fists and long-distance kills are much different than knives, or intimate death.” Jeremy purses his lips, uneasy. He leans back on his hands. “I hope you’ll allow me to recount the events of the evening for you. I know you were left confused and uncomfortable last night. Let me help you.”

Jeremy stays silent, unsure of what Ryan wants to do. He meets Ryan’s eyes for a moment before looking away and nodding. Ryan moves the tools out from between them, scooting closer so their knees were only a few inches apart. It’s warm in the armory, and Jeremy can feel his shirt starting to stick to his back. “Close your eyes,” Ryan says, eyes set on Jeremy’s. Jeremy closes his eyes.

Ryan’s voice is softer now, quieter and surrounding him. “It started when he held a gun to my head, when we were on the bench. How did you feel?”

A fire of frustration and anger burns in Jeremy’s chest for a moment. _Why is he trying to psychoanalyze me? Who does he think he is? What the fuck is his problem? Is he trying to gain something?_ He takes a deep breath in, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to calm to emotions. _He’s trying to be helpful, in some weird Ryan way. Give him a chance. Be open, be receptive; he’s the closest you have to an ally right now._

A moment passes before Jeremy is able to clear his mind and respond. He thinks of the sound of trees, and the night sky, the city below them, and the cool glinting metal. “Scared. Angry. I wanted immediate control.” He hesitates before adding, “though a part of me always knew it was inevitable, so I felt kind of… relieved? Not to see you threatened, God no, but because it just…” He bites his lip, “I don’t know, it just feels wrong to go that long without… something.” _Without violence._

Ryan hums appreciatively. “Then you started fighting.”

“Yeah. It’s always the same, the fighting part, same as all boxing matches and bar fights.”

“He cut your chest.”

Jeremy shrugs. “I don’t care. It threw me off balance, but it happens all the time. I would’ve preferred a fair fist fight though.”

“And then you were fighting the other guy. You hit him in the throat and smashed his head into the bench.” His words are slower now, giving Jeremy the opportunity to appreciate every syllable. “He could barely fend you off when you started choking him.” Jeremy doesn’t respond, fingers digging into his jeans. “Your hands were wrapped around his neck, breaking his windpipe, forcing his throat closed. You could feel his nails in your skin, digging deeper and deeper, feel him writhing as he tried to get air. His skull was already cracked open.”

Jeremy’s breath is heavy, the sensations rolling over him. He can see it again, and he wants to squeeze. His chest feels tight, his lips parted.

“How did you feel?” Ryan murmurs.

Seconds pass by in what feels like hours, heat radiating off of Jeremy’s body. He feels hot, and sweaty, and filled with some indescribable, overwhelming emotion. A sick and guilty feeling swirls in his chest, but it’s not as strong as Jeremy knows it should be. The word falls heavy off his tongue, “Good.”

Jeremy has his eyes closed, but he knows Ryan is smiling. He flinches when he feels fingers graze his knees, breath catching in his throat before Ryan hums. Ryan murmurs, fingers soft on Jeremy’s knees, “and then you saw me. What did you see?”

Jeremy tilts his head down, eyebrows drawing together as his stomach turned.. “I saw,” he whispers, “a happy man.”

“You recognized I was happy?” Ryan runs his fingers over Jeremy’s knees in slow, practiced figure-8s

“Immediately. And I knew your eyes were on me,” His heart pounds, breathing ragged and wet, “and you liked what you saw.”

Ryan doesn’t respond, instead beginning to massage around Jeremy’s knees. “And then you stabbed Liam, and got him to the ground. And you kept stabbing him.”

Jeremy feels like he’s on another plane, surrounded by warmth and drenched in hot rain. He doesn’t recognize the armory anymore; he’s back on the mountain, over Liam’s chest, now with Ryan beside him. “I wanted to get to his heart. I needed to feel it, feel it collapse, I,” his voice is low and hysteric, “I wanted to scrape a hole into his chest and know that he’s dead, that he can’t be fixed, that his soul is gone and he can’t find us.”

“And?” Ryan asks, voice low. His hands inched higher up his thigh, thumbs coaxing Jeremy’s tense muscles to loosen and relax under his touch. His palms smoothed over his skin, “How did you feel?”

Jeremy’s breath is heavy and escaping from his parted lips, eyes squeezing together as his heart chanted the answer, louder and louder rising through his skin and pulsing through his brain. He opens his eyes and looks up at Ryan, eyes wide and bewildered, “I… I liked it. I really-- I liked it.”

A smile dancing across Ryan’s lips, gaze cool and relaxed. He slides one hand onto Jeremy’s shoulder, the other settling on his thigh. “Yes.”

Jeremy’s eyes search his face in a desperate attempt to seek out some answers, “it wasn’t just out of necessity, I was excited to fight, I, I liked the overkill.” He reaches out and grips Ryan’s shoulder, “What-- What does that mean? What should I do?”

Ryan’s smile spreads further across his face and he leans in, eyes mischievous, “You stick with me.”

The sound of loud footsteps down the stairs into the armory drags Jeremy out of the moment, his face flushing when he realizes how _close_ him and Ryan were. Ryan’s hand on his shoulder, the other on his thigh, their knees pressed together. His fingers clutched in Ryan’s shirt, Ryan leaning in with a smile.

Jeremy pulls away, actions chaotic and sloppy as he stumbles his way into a standing position before Geoff walks in. He glances at Ryan to see him still sitting, just watching him lazily.

“Evening, gentlemen!” Geoff says, looking around. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave so I can lock up and assume the city won’t be blown up by morning.” He pauses and bends down to look under the lines of tables, “Why are you on the ground, Ryan?”

“Decided to sit while sharpening some knives,” Ryan answers, cool and composed. He picks up the stack of knives behind him before hopping to his feet and striding over the nearest table. He slides one of the knives into the sheath on his hip before laying the rest with other knife paraphernalia. He props his hands behind his back and watches Geoff with a sly leer, as though daring him to call him on his lie.

Geoff peers over at Jeremy, suspicious. “And you?”

“Just talking with him, sir. --I mean, Geoff, not sir. Just talking.” Jeremy stutters, begging his body to tone down on the heat in his face. _Chill out, you’re cool, you’re sly, you’re Rimmy Tim_. He gives him a half-hearted salute as he starts making his way towards the door, knees stiff from sitting, “I’ll, ah, get out of your way now then. Have a good one, sleep well, good bye!” He practically sprints up the stairs when he’s out of their sight.

He likes to say that he doesn’t have an alcohol problem, but, for the second day in a row, he finds himself rushing home and immediately opening his liquor cabinet. He throws back a glass of rum -- what is he doing? This is more than just killing for a job or necessity, this he can’t justify by pointing to money or extenuating circumstances. _I like it._ He uncaps the rum bottle again.

He’s topping off his next glass when his phone vibrates on the counter next to him.

>>Gavin: Ya!! I'll send you the coords to a bar I like, see you there

 _Fuck_.

—

Jeremy sidles up next to Gavin, sitting next to him at the bar. Gavin turns and beams when he sees him, “Jeremy!” He pauses before chiding with a smile, “Have you already been drinking?”

“I may have been pre-gaming,” Jeremy says, signalling to the bartender.

“Fair enough,” Gavin says, nudging a glass of bourbon on the rocks to Jeremy. Jeremy takes it and raises an eyebrow at him. Gavin shrugs,”I didn’t want to look like a lonely loon at the bar so I babbled something about a friend coming and had to order a drink to prove it.”

Jeremy brings it to his lips, “You know the bartender doesn’t care that much.”

Gavin curls his fingers around his glass as he tilts his head up with a cocky smile, “I am _positive_ everyone in this bar cares deeply about my every move.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes and takes a swig, “Tone down the ego there, golden boy.” He props his foot on a bar connecting the legs of the stool he’s sitting on. “Do you really care about being alone?”

Gavin thinks for a moment, humming into the rim of his glass before sipping it. “I think so, yeah. I’m not usually alone, usually I’m with Michael or Geoff or something. And you can’t look as cool when you’re alone.”

“I dunno, Ryan’s usually alone and he looks cool.” _Don’t think about Ryan._

“That’s true. I think I look pretty badass when I’m alone during fights and stuff when I have my whole get up on. And Ryan has his whole Vagabond thing going on all the time and is pretty much always fighting.” He pauses, scrunching up his nose. “He’s cheating, at the being cool thing.” They both take swigs of their drinks. “Have you seen him without the get up?”

Jeremy remembers Ryan chatting with Imani at the café, and Ryan standing over him in loose dad jeans splattered with blood. “Yep.”

Gavin gets excited, leaning in, “Isn’t it strange? He looks like a poodle in bland sneakers!”

Jeremy smiles, resting his head on his hand, “Y’know, he does have the worst shoes. I don’t usually look at his shoes when he’s in his Vagabond gear, but they’re so _obvious_ when he’s not dressed up. It’s like… he must have gotten then at either Walmart or the Dick’s Sporting Goods clearance section.” _They’re probably easily washable._

“I would bet you a hundred dollars he spent less than 35 dollars on them,” Gavin prods as the bartender comes over. “I will pay you enough money for you to buy him a better pair of shoes.” He watches as Jeremy orders two margaritas, tapping his almost-empty glass. “They actually look so bad that I couldn’t be shocked if someone told me they were new Yeezys.”

Jeremy raises his eyebrows, amused. “I’m sure that was funny if I knew much about fashion.”

Gavin rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses, “It’s barely fashion, Kanye West doesn’t know anything. He’s a fake designer who uses his name to overprice cheap shit.”

“Taking gentrification back from white people, nice,” Jeremy says, finishing off his whiskey. “Do you know a lot about fashion?”

“Well, not good fashion,” Gavin says, eyeing him with a lopsided grin. “I know a lot about designer brands and how to make something as expensive and garish as possible.”

“Oh, don’t worry, we can tell.”

Jeremy’s not really sure how long they talk about how many fashion faux pas Gavin’s purposefully committing, but by the time they finally reach a lull in the conversation, they’ve finished quite a few more drinks. Jeremy leans back in his chair, arms tucked behind his head as he stretches.

Gavin leans his elbow on the bar and watches him, finishing off his screwdriver before gently resting the empty glass back on the bar. He reaches out and pats Jeremy’s upper arm, reaching around his bicep. “You have big muscles, Jeremy.”

Jeremy almost has a heart attack. He lurches forward and swings his head around to look over at Gavin. Gavin feels down his forearm, lingering, before pulling away. “One million dollars but you have arms like Popeye and tiny stick legs,” Gavin says, flashing a dopey smile.

Jeremy blinks at him, heat radiating off his cheeks and ears burning. “I-I mean, yeah, I’d take it,” he says, rolling his shoulders subconsciously to try and flush out his anxiety. More men have touched him just today than did the two weeks prior. “It’s a million dollars and I can still arm wrestle the fuck out of everyone.”

“Yeah, but your legs would break really easily.”

“Why would they break really easily? You have stick legs and you’re fine.”

Gavin squawks and pushes him, hands shoving against his chest and pulling a gaggle of laughter out of him. “First of all, my legs are TONED--”

“Disagree.”

“--And, I mean they would break because you couldn’t support that much upper body on such a small lower body,” Gavin says.

Jeremy waves his hand, “I don’t care, I’ll take it. Million dollars will cover the hospital bills, I’ll just use crutches or a wheelchair or something, I don’t care. I’ll be the best WWE star ever.” Gavin rolls his eyes. “Would you take it?”

“Duh, I’m a stick now, this would just be gaining muscle for money.” Gavin giggles and leans away as Jeremy launches into a tirade of “but you just said you weren’t a stick!” and “then why’d you ask it!”

Gavin shakes his head and stands up, wobbling a little before resting his hands against the bar to steady himself. He tosses two hundred dollars bills at the bartender and salutes him with a wink, “That’s for me and this guy. Keep the change.”

Jeremy jumps up, ignoring his swaying vision in favor of grabbing his arm, “You don’t have to pay for me, I have the money to pay.”

Gavin waves his complaints away, striding forward and dragging Jeremy with him. “You’ll owe me, don’t worry. Just lead me out this bar and then drive for me.”

Jeremy pulls in front of him and does what he was told, tugging Gavin by the arm out the crowded depths into the cool air of the street. “But we took separate cars.”

Gavin shrugs, “I’ll pick mine up tomorrow. I don’t feel like driving right now. I’m too sleepy” They cross the parking lot before Gavin starts wiggling with excitement. “Hold on, Jeremy, I need to put something in your trunk from my car before we go, and you can’t look!”

Jeremy grimaces, shifting uncertainly, “Is it a body? Or, like, a collection of weapons for us to go hack up people with because I’m not really in the mood right now.” _What a sickly case of deja vu that would be._ “Also, why are you putting things in my car that I can’t see?”

Gavin shushes him, pulling away from his hand to waddle in the direction of his car a few spots away. “I have a surprise for you!” _Man, that line’s overused._ “I have a whole thing planned, you’ll love it. Pop your trunk and close your eyes.”

Jeremy groans before unlocking his car and sliding in the driver’s seat. He presses a button and the trunk slides open behind him. He rolls down the passenger side window and glances at Gavin warily before closing his eyes. “So no murder, right? I’m really feeling like chilling just this once.”

Gavin sighs, loud and over exaggerated. “No, Jeremy, I’m not Ryan.” _Spot on._ Jeremy can hear Gavin’s trunk close, and his shuffling and item movement, before he feels his trunk slam closed. Gavin slides into the passenger side seat, reclines the seat back, and closes the door.

Jeremy cracks one eye open. “Can I look now?”

“You’ll need to in order to drive us, sure,” Gavin says, giddy smile on his face. His cheeks are tinted red from the alcohol and he’s stretched over the seat like a loose cat blissed out while laying in a spot of sun.

“Where am I driving us?” Gavin’s eyes are closed, head flopped back on the seat that is tilted back so much it’s almost flat. His neck is exposed, his jaw smooth and relaxed. Jeremy has a sudden, overwhelming urge to push Gavin’s hair out of his eyes, and run his fingers through his hair. It hits him like a tsunami wave, knocking the breath out of him and leaving him heavy and tight in the chest. He sucks in a quick breath through parted lips.

“Mm.. the park near here. You know the one.” Gavin breathes out, cheek pressing against the leather of the car seat.

Jeremy bites his lip before pulling his eyes away. He puts the car in reverse and starts to pull out the parking lot and onto the main road. “You know, if you’re tired, I can just, uh, drop you off at home. You don’t need to push yourself to entertain me or anything,” Jeremy says, voice low and soft.

“No,” Gavin breathes, “I’m still committed to this. It’s not that late. I’m just resting my eyes.”

Within a few quiet minutes, Jeremy can hear loud, steady snoring.

\--

 

“Hey, Gavin. Gavin. Wake up,” Jeremy says, shaking Gavin’s arm. Gavin opens his eyes blearily, half-lidded. “Are you sure you don’t want me to just drive you home. We’ve had a long week, I get it if you’re tired.” They’re pulled on the side of the road next to the park.

Gavin’s eyebrows furrow and he presses his face into Jeremy’s hand. “What time is it?”

“11:30, 12,” Jeremy says, voice soft. He opens his palm so Gavin can rest on that instead of his knuckles.

Gavin groans softly. “Jeremy, I don’t know what happened, I’m so tired.”

“It’s alright, Gavin, let me just take you home. We can do whatever you planned another day, I promise.” Gavin buries his face in Jeremy’s hand and pulls his knees up to his chest, eyes fluttering shut again. “Are you… alright?

Gavin lets out a breath. “Yeah, it’s just… it’s been a long week, Jeremy. I wish I was asleep a lot of the time sometimes.” He seems to sink into the seat even more, if that’s possible. “We have a weird job, Jeremy. It’s fucked up, and scary, and being worried takes all the energy out of you.”

“I know, Gavin.” He bites his lip, unsure of how much he should give in about himself. “I guess I have the opposite problem of you, it’s like I’ve been drinking every night to relax me enough to fall asleep. Heh.” A few minutes pass, Jeremy’s stomach twisting uncomfortably with the familiar fear of oversharing. He’s about to begin a bumbling apology when Gavin speaks up.

“I’m sorry, Jeremy, I meant to impress you,” Gavin murmurs, voice heavy with the sleep swiftly overtaking him and only a little slurred from alcohol. A moment passes before he continues, voice quiet, “I guess… you have such a calming atmosphere.” Jeremy stares out over the trees. “I feel so comfortable around you sometimes.” Jeremy pulls the car out of park and starts backtracking, heading back into the city. He’ll get Gavin’s address from Michael; he’s not positive Gavin’s still awake.

“Like I just want to fall asleep by your side. Under the sun, know you’re there… moonlit covers and... pretty hair. Safety,” Gavin bumbles, voice so quiet it’s almost a whisper. He’s drooling on the seat. Everything he says after that is mumbled so quietly it’s unintelligible, and then he fades into sleep again. Jeremy doesn’t want to pull away the hand that Gavin’s cuddled in to so he drives with one hand. _Gavin must be talking out of his ass. It’s kind of cute._

It’s a quiet ride, Jeremy driving as slowly and carefully as he can so he doesn’t shake Gavin out of sleep. And so that he doesn’t crash. Premeditated murder is fine, but manslaughter through drunk driving? That’s fucked up.

Gavin’s apartment complex is very obviously more grand and luxurious than Jeremy’s, with wide polished stairs leading into the marbled lobby. It may not be a mansion in the countryside, but it undoubtedly costs just as much. Jeremy parks on the curb outside, suddenly self-conscious. Living like this, Gavin would certainly have had experience rocking suits in his day.

Jeremy drank a lot of water during the drive in an attempt to sober himself up, but he still doesn’t feel like he’s in a right mind when he looks at the Brit. Gavin, a mess, snoring with drool pooling on the leather seat and arms thrown across his chest haphazardly. Gavin, who had a tendency of spilling drinks on himself when he got too excited, or rowdy, or lazy, and who now reeks of spiced rums and whiskeys. Gavin, who is reckless and idiotic, hazardous and destructive, a garish flashing warning sign. Gavin, who, in this moment, Jeremy views as an untouchable king with a crown of golden locks.

He must be drunk to be thinking this way. _Snap out of it_

Jeremy drags his hand away from where Gavin had placed it on his face and instead sets it on his head, gently patting him. “Hey, wakey wakey Dickhead,” he says, voice soft, “You’re drooling on my seat.”

Gavin groans and stretches onto his back, long limbs craning out like a lazy cat after a nap. He flops back down, apparently exhausted by that movement. “Jeremy,” he says, poking his chin up and sticking his hands out. “Carry me.”

“What? No, fuck off, dude, you’re awake.”

“Jeeremyy,” Gavin whines, his hands making grabby motions at him. “I’m sleepy, carry me.”

“You can walk.”

“You’re strong, you can carry me.”

Jeremy sighs and gets out of the car, walking around to the passenger side. He opens Gavin’s door. “Get up.”

Gavin flops his head to look in his direction. He then pushes his grabby hands towards his chest and starts groaning loudly. “Jeeereemmyyy--”

“Fine! Fucking, shit,” Jeremy hisses, acutely aware of the looks he was getting from a well-dressed couple leaving the building. “Just don’t be an idiot.”

“Yay!” Gavin cheers, reaching out to cling to Jeremy’s shoulders as Jeremy bends over to hook one back behind his back and one under his legs. He huffs, straightening his back with a wince.

“You’re heavier than you look,” he grunts, awkwardly waddling backwards to kick the door shut. _God, I must look weird._

“It’s all muscle,” Gavin gushes, head falling against Jeremy’s shoulder with a smile. “I’m pretty much ripped.”

“Sure, of course.” Jeremy starts the arduous walk to the lobby, “That explains why I have to carry you.”

“My big muscles can seduce anyone into doing my bidding,” Gavin beams.

“Big muscles, huh?” Jeremy says, absent minded. The polished glass doors slide open automatically when he stumbles up, granting him access into the lobby. The receptionist looks up from her computer and blinks at him. She starts to stand up.

“No, no no, no need for that, Miss,” Gavin interrupts, waving a hand at her, “He’s with me, he’s my servant for the day.”

Jeremy tries to figure out a way to kick Gavin as the woman slowly sits back down, squinted eyes still stuck on them. Jeremy awkwardly waddles into a waiting elevator and mashes the close elevator button, letting out a breath of relief as he escapes the suspicious eyes of onlookers. “Gavin, you realize how shady this looks, right? Like, this would be fine if you just lived in a house alone or something, but all of those people think I’ve, like… drugged you or something.”

Gavin shrugs. “I don’t care. They can talk to my attorney. I live on the penthouse level.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes and pushes the PH button. “Of course you do. Do you really have an attorney?”

“No, but I can get one if they need it,” Gavin says, kicking his legs playfully.

Jeremy looks at the elevator doors warily, “Can I put you down yet? My arms are really starting to hurt.”

Gavin hums. “Are you weak?”

Jeremy blinks. “Uh, no, but--”

“Sound weak to me.”

“What the fuck, dude, you aren’t even walking.” The elevator doors open, revealing a small room with a grand set of double doors. “Unlock the door.” Gavin wriggles against him as he fishes in his pocket to pull out his keys, free arm hooked around Jeremy’s neck. He flashes a key in front of an electronic panel on the door. It clicks open.

Jeremy swings open the door, momentarily overwhelmed by the sight. It’s all glass, the inky night sky a canopy over the tall ceilings and the bright silhouettes of skyscrapers below them illuminating the room. Jeremy sucks in a breath, momentarily overwhelmed. Gavin doesn’t seem fazed.

Jeremy dumps Gavin on the nearest couch, a long, leather sofa that undoubtedly cost more than Jeremy’s first car. Gavin shrieks, still clinging to Jeremy’s neck and trying to tug him down. Jeremy flushes, fumbling as he grabs onto the back of the couch and struggles against Gavin’s grip to sit next to him instead of with his face in Gavin’s chest. Gavin relents, instead wiggling to have his head next to Jeremy’s and feet tucked on his other side. He hums, “Do you like my home, Jeremy?”

“Uh, duh,” Jeremy says, looking wide-eyed at the speckled stars around them. “It’s… amazing. The view is incredible, and everything you have is so luxurious.” He pauses. “Could use a interior designer, though. Furniture is pretty mismatched. No offense.”

Gavin smiles. He looks away, quiet for a moment, before taking off his glasses and leaning forward to set them on the coffee table in front of them. He leans back, gaze set on the wall opposite them. Jeremy can’t help but stare at him now. He doesn’t realize how long they’ve been silent and how long he’s been looking over the curve of his eyelashes, and the arc of his cheekbones, and the light scars littering his skin, and the dark cut over one eye, and the color of his cheeks under the stars until Gavin speaks.

“Jeremy,” he begins, voice soft, “Do you think I can do my job?”

Jeremy’s eyebrows crease together. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. “Uh, yes?”

“No, I mean, be honest,” Gavin closes his eyes, “Am I the weak link of the crew?”

Jeremy looks away. He thinks of how he’d normally answer if he was asked in the base, something like a snort and a _Yeah, you get hurt all the time and squawk like a bird when rattled, which is always. You’re kind of an idiot._ But that’s not really the full truth. They make fun of him but, when they’re in the field and they’re in a tight place, Gavin has a tendency of saving the day through some wacky hijinks that shouldn’t have possibly worked but did, through talent and dumb luck. And he’s by far their best negotiator and con artist; he has an odd knack for acting.

“No,” Jeremy says, finally deciding his inner monologue should be released, “You’re smart, you’re good with random tech, you can distract the shit out of enemies and act like a motherfucker, you’re definitely the most charismatic out of all of us, you’re a evil genius in a helicopter, and you’re not awful with a handgun. You’re a part of the crew just like all of us.” Jeremy pauses. “Hell, I’m probably the weakest link of the crew given that all I offer is brute force, and Ryan can do that plus a million more intimidating things.”

Gavin smiles and shakes his head, “No, you’re our Jeremy. You’re way better at combat than me or Geoff. And you’re fun, just like us.” He lets out a breath before opening his eyes. He stretches his hand out in front of him, splaying out his fingers. He stares at them, bending every knuckles, before setting his hand down. “Any other crew would say I should get a new job. Even though this is all I like to do and all I’ve ever known.”

“Why would you need to get a different job?”

Gavin looks over at him curiously. “Well, it’s a pretty visual job in theory.”

“So?”

“And I’m blind?”

Jeremy looks over at him and raises his eyebrows before looking away and slapping his knee, “Oh, that makes so much more sense! Holy shit.” He looks back over at him, “Yeah, I just thought you were self conscious of your scarred-up eyes before.”

Gavin squints at him, “ _Seriously_? Are you an idiot?”

“Yeah, I guess so! Huh. Wow. Small world.” He smiles, looking out at the sky again. He then does a double take. “Wait, how do you fly helicopters?”

Gavin shakes his head at him. “The glasses I wear, Geoff custom bought those. It’s like a Google Glass, except it sends out, like, clicks on a different frequency then, when they reflect on the stuff they hit and knock back against the glasses sensors or whatever, that’s put into like real audible clicks in these earbuds,” Gavin takes out the golden earbuds that Jeremy had gotten for him all those days ago in the med bay. “So I can use, uh, echolocation without clicking myself. It’s handier than a cane a lot of the time.”

He pauses. “And it, uh, can identify easy colors, text, numbers, a few select objects, stuff like that. All scrapped stuff from weird Google technologies and indie apps or whatever. And I can input other data if I want it to recognize other things. So I had to get a bunch of photos of you so that I could have it identify you when I saw you. Sorry if you noticed Geoff taking photos of you a month or two ago.”

Jeremy frowns. He does remember Geoff being around him a lot more often than usual for a few days and he did start whistling suspiciously often. _I should really become more observant._ “That’s… really cool, actually. Wow.” _Matt would love to know that kind of technology exists and works in real life_. “How many people know?”

Gavin shrugs. “Geoff, Jack, Michael, Lindsay, our old member Ray. I dunno.” He hesitates, “I didn’t tell Ryan but… he might’ve figured it out. It’s hard to keep stuff like that from him. You know he tries to know everything about everyone for ‘future uses’ so he can blackmail us later. At least, that’s what he says, and I know Geoff’s been doing him lots of favors on the down low, so he’s probably got something on him.”

“Hm.” Jeremy rubs his cheek absentmindedly. For some reason, a big part of him doesn’t want Ryan to know. Maybe he would feel more special. Maybe he wants to avoid the idea that Ryan can find out everything about him. “That explains why you don’t take your shades off a lot.”

“Yeah… and I have to turn them off every time I want to take them off because if they’re pointed in a different direction but still yapping it’s confusing and nauseating. Real annoying.” He leans his head back against the couch leather, head rested against the side of Jeremy’s arm, “It’s nice like this, though. It’s quiet. I don’t need them now because there’s no threat. I know what’s around me.”

Jeremy closes his eyes. “Yeah.” Being so high in the air and so separated from other residents gives the area the unique feeling of stillness, a trait so rarely found in the city. Jeremy’s so used to the constant drone of honks and ambulance cries and the random screeches and bells at all hours of the night. It was always there when he was growing up, and has followed him everywhere he’s lived. And yet here, there’s only the soft sound of fans blocking out what little street noise can perforate up to such a height. Despite the busy, violent, and loud world around them, it’s quiet. They can take a breath. “It’s nice feeling safe.”

_It’s nice feeling safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't drink and drive, it's bad, the crew is made of criminals that murder people and their actions should not be replicated.


	6. Casino Royale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has weird pacing and overall isn't my best work But i have to post it eventually
> 
> big thanks to my beta reader [myarmada](http://archiveofourown.org/users/myarmada) !

Jeremy ended up leaving after about an hour of saying that he needed to go and fighting the subsequent chorus of whines that came afterwards. He found himself smiling as he went to bed late that night, exhausted, but happier than usual.

His position in the crew seems to have become cemented as well, at least in their seating arrangements. They meet in the common room often, Gavin and Michael propped on a couch, often with Lindsay beside them. Geoff and Jack are on the other side of the room, always poised and ready to argue at the drop of a hat. Jeremy stands behind Gavin, hands pressed against the couch as he leans in and snickers with Michael about whatever dumb thing he had done that evening. When Jeremy first came, Ryan would often stand near the kitchen, hovering around the outskirts between the two groups, always eery and ethereal. Now, he’s usually to Jeremy’s side behind the couch, arms crossed but eyes filled with mirth by the lads’ antics.

Now, a week later, they’re in those positions again waiting for the next field trip. Ryan hands Jeremy a chocolate donut in a paper towel. Jeremy gratefully accepts and munches happily as Ryan nibbles on his own beside him.

Geoff walks in and collapses onto a recliner, letting out a loud groan while setting his head back. Jack rolls her eyes as she strides in after him, carrying a large paper flipbook. She sets it on an easel and steps away, setting her hands behind her back. “Okay. We’re going to be robbing a casino.”

“Wooooo!” Lindsay hollars, pumping her fist in the air, “All right!” Jack gives her an exasperated look and Michael rubs his temples, smiling.

“Yep. Woot woot,” Jack deadpans. “So we’re going to be in four teams. Geoff and I are gonna be the ones actually grabbing the cash from the back. We’ve been talking with a guy on the inside who has been wanting to join the crew. He’s pretty good, so we were thinking he could be our inside guy that lets us in, but Matt did some creeping and found out he’s working with another gang who just wanted to get someone in with us.” She continues on with a sigh, “which is a little disappointing, but he doesn’t know we’re on to him yet. So we’re gonna ask to talk to him in a back room, take him out, then go through the corridors to the vault. To keep attention off of us, we’re going to have a distraction team on the casino floor.” Michael raises his eyebrows and leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Michael, you are not on the distraction team.”

Michael leans back and holds out his hands, indignant, “What? But I’m the explosives guy, distractions are my whole thing.”

“Yes, that’s true, but this is going to be a less illegal sort of distraction. If everything goes well, we should be out with the money before anyone realizes what’s happening. It’s more of a stealth mission than our usual,” Jack says, folding her hands together. Michael sighs and leans back against the couch, disappointed. “You’ll still be in the action, though. You and Lindsay are going to be at the back door. When someone comes out for a smoke, you’ll take ‘em down and start clearing out the hallways so me and Geoff have a easy way out.

“When we come out, y’all will cover us as we get into the getaway vehicle. Trevor’ll be waiting around a corner out back to pick us up. He could not be here for this meeting because he is currently at a dentist appointment,” a chorus of snickers travels through the room, “but he has been briefed. You guys will get back in your car and leave once we are gone.”

“So,” Jack claps her hands together and turns to the paper flip book. She turns the page to show a crude drawing of two straight-faced stickmen, one with a mustache and one with red hair, holding big cash bags. “Me and Geoff are the retrieval team,” she says, before turning to a page with a curly haired stickman and another stickman with red hair, but this time they have large devilish frowns complete with horns. “Lindsay and Michael are the backup team.” The next page is of an armored car with a stickman with a big grin and shining teeth, “Trevor is retrieval.”

She looks back at the couch, “This next picture is my favorite. I spent a lot of time on it, like, a solid ten minutes.”

“I gave ideas,” Geoff chips in from the recliner.

“Geoff did chip in, yes, and he did a great job.” Jack flips the page to show a smirking stick decked in a tux with a black ponytail, a profusely sweating purple-suited man, and an angry stick with pointy hair and a golden outfit.

“Am I the one in the purple suit?” Jeremy asks, pointing.

“Yes, you’ll have to buy one before the hit,” Jack says, looking back at the pad with a thoughtful expression. “I drew it, so now it has to happen.”

“It’s like Blue’s notebook in Blue’s Clues. Whatever’s in there has to be real,” Geoff says, leaning forward and waving a hand. “See, if we have money in that picture, we’ll have to have money in real life. It’s genius.”

“I don’t think that’s how that notebook works. Also, isn’t it Steve’s, not Blue’s?” Ryan asks, voice muffled with donut.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that you were a Blue’s Clues expert, Ryan,” Geoff says, before tossing a throw pillow at him.

Ryan ducks. “I’m not, I just, like, have babysat before. Really it’s basic Blue’s Clues knowledge.”

“Hey Ryan,” Jack interrupts, “If you want to explain things so bad, how about you go through the distraction team’s plan? After all, you helped make it.”

Ryan sits up, “Uh, yeah, sure, of course, if you’re too lazy to finish.” Jack ignores the opportunity for an argument and takes a drink of water. Ryan wanders into the center of the room to stand next to the paper and squints at it. “Yes, ah, so. I’m the guy in the black tux.” He looks back at the couch and clears his throat, “I’m going as Russell Yelf, a hoity lawyer who also is in a motorcycle gang on the DL. I’m the plus one of Jeremy,” he points at his stick figure, “who is Jay Vegas and an architect who left the Bostonian mob but is still kind of in with it.”

“Wow, Boston mob, how original,” Jeremy jokes, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“Gavin is, uh…” Ryan rubs his jaw, “Gavin. I dunno. His face is already pretty known in the crime rings so we can’t really lie and say he’s someone else."

“I feel like you and Jeremy got much cooler roles than me,” Gavin complains, leaning against Michael and pouting. Lindsay pats his head.

“Hm, I don’t know why you think that. Anyway, the whole crux of this situation is that I’m Jeremy’s sultry husband and you’re his secret lover and wannabe sugar baby who didn’t know about me. And you’re gonna see us and we’ll, like, yell at each other and stuff. Boom. Totally legal distraction.”

Lindsay gasps, “Like my telenovelas!”

“Yeah, can we get a video of this so I can get someone to make it into a soap later? Maybe I can convince Denice we’re all actors.” Michael says, propping his arms behind his head.

Jack stretches, “If you want to set up some spy cameras beforehand, I’m not stopping you, but I’m not doing it myself.” She claps, “Alright, that’s everything. Now, let’s go shopping.”

 

Jeremy shifts in the passenger seat of Ryan’s car before pulling down the sun visor and looking in its mirror. He adjusts his tie, pursing his lips before leaning in and trying to tame his eyebrows.

Ryan glances over at him. “You know, nobody’s going to be looking at your eyebrows. Also, it might benefit you to have screwy eyebrows since you’re kind of wacky or whatever.”

Jeremy pushes the sun visor back up before flopping back into his seat. “Are you telling me my eyebrows are bad, husband dear?”

“Of course not, dear. I’m just saying you might be a crackhead so if your eyebrows do get messed up it won’t be the biggest deal character-wise. Also, did you forget my name, love?”

Jeremy gasps, indignant, “What, I would never! I know your name… Raymond.”

Ryan shakes his head, sighing with a smile, “Russell. Raymond sounds like a name for a 50 year old.”

Jeremy rubs his beard, “Why did you choose these random names? Why couldn’t we go with, like, middle names or something so I at least had a reason to remember them?”

“Well, this way, if you forget it, you can just say their first initial and it’ll still work, since everyone’s name starts with the same initial.” He pauses. “Though, I guess your name is just your first initial. And you should remember them because it’s part of the mission.”

“Hm,” Jeremy hums, looking out the window. “What’s your middle name?”

“Ryan.”

“Your name’s Ryan Ryan Vagabond?”

Ryan snorts. “No, Ryan’s only my middle name. My first name’s James.”

“James…” Jeremy lets the word roll off his tongue. He scrunches up his nose. “I don’t like it. I know, like, at least three other Los Santos guys named James and I’ve been here three months.”

“Me neither. That’s why I go by Ryan. Or, in this case,” he looks at Jeremy, “Russell Last Name.”

“See! You forgot your name too! It’s Yelf. Like why-elf.”

Ryan looks back at the road, “So you remembered my last name, just not my first name.”

“Well, I have to know my husband’s last name. I was trying to think of why we didn’t take my last name,” Jeremy says. “Also, Yelf is a fucking stupid last name.”

“Very presumptuous to believe I would take your last name, Mr. Vegas. Yours isn’t much better,” Ryan says, tilting his chin up.

“At least mine isn’t fucking Yelf like I’m a dog in the North Pole,” Jeremy retorts. “Russell Vegas sounds like a perfectly legitimate name.”

“Whatever you say, Dooley.”

Jeremy huffs and crosses his arms. “What’s your last name, anyway? I don’t think it’s Vagabond.”

“You said it was Yelf,” Ryan says, glancing at his mirror before sliding into the next lane.

“Not that, dickhead. Your real last name. You know mine.”

“Hmm… It starts with an H.”

“Hanes.”

“Nope.”

Jeremy huffs and leans his head back, “This is no fair.”

“I don’t want you to find my whole hidden backstory, I have to inch it out bit by bit,” Ryan smiles.

Jeremy sighs. “Is the next letter A?”

“Ding ding ding,” Ryan deadpans.

“Oh shit, I didn’t think I’d get it,” Jeremy says, leaning forward. “I was just going letter by letter. Alright, next letter, A again.”

“Nope, not Haa.”

“B.”

“No.”

“C.”

“This is going to take a long time if we go letter by letter.”

“D.”

“Alright, guys,” Geoff interrupts over their radios, voice crystal clear in the earpieces they all have. “Me, Jack, and Gavin are about to arrive on the scene. Remember, for the people going inside the legal way -- aka Ryan and Jeremy -- no weapons. This is a _stealth operation._ There will be a metal detector and a pat down.” He pauses. “At least, Ryan, hide your bone knife in your shoe or up your ass or something so they can’t find it. If you send the place on red alert, I’m going to kick your ass back to your Meemaw's peach farm.”

Ryan slides his sleeve up to press a hidden button on the inside of his silver watch to activate comms. “An alarm won’t go off if there’s no one alive to activate the alarm, Geoff,” Ryan replies, voice smooth. Jeremy watches him.

“Ha ha, dickhead. No. This is a stealth operation. Especially for you. If the distraction team is the one that blows the cover, it’s gonna be a real problem. Only start shooting if we’ve blown it out back and there’s people shooting at you,” Geoff radios.

A new voice crackles in over the comm system. “I’m feeling very left out of the conversation right now,” Gavin whines.

Jeremy shakes his head, smiling, and presses his watch, “Shut up, Gavin, I’m trying to see some old guys cyber fight.”

Ryan pouts, “I’m not old.”

“Alright, all of you are annoying now. Clear comms and focus on the mission, okay thanksss!” Geoff says. This is followed by unhappy Gavin whines and continual attempts by Ryan to assert his youth and vigor.

* * *

 Ryan tucks his arm behind his back before bowing and sweeping his free hand out to offer his elbow to Jeremy. Jeremy smiles and shakes his head, cheeks darkening a degree as he hooks his arm with Ryan’s. They start down the sidewalk towards the casino, just two suited men under the bright city lights. _What a weird situation to explain to my younger self_ , Jeremy thinks, smiling to himself.

Ryan elbows him, head tucked down to eye him, “What are you laughing to yourself about?”

Jeremy shakes his head, “Just how weird this job is. Not really what I thought I was getting into when I joined, y’know. I was terrified of you guys. I mean, in awe, but terrified at the same time.”

Ryan cracks a smile, swinging his head to an inaudible tune. “It’s funny, we get that a lot. The public has not caught on that our incredible spectacles of violence and success are made with a considerable amount of idiocy, luck, and boredom. They believe we are just so professional that we make these wild scenarios. Which could not be further from the truth.”

“You can say that again. Half of our heists start with a dumb idea about how to incorporate random innocuous things into crime.” Jeremy pauses. “Actually, it’s impressive that nothing dumb is happening in this one.”

“Oh, no, this time Lindsay and Michael are going to leave tiny cat figurines along the path to the back door once they’ve cleared the way to signify that it’s safe,” Ryan says, lowering his voice as he peers at the quickly approaching casino entrance. “You’re right, though, these stealth things have less going on.” He clears his throat as they near the door, scrunching his eyebrows, “You did lock up the dog when we left though, right, Honey?”

Jeremy pushes the door open and releases his hold on Ryan to hold the door for him. “Of course. Good ol’ Matt would tear up the place out of loneliness if we left him out.” He peers around, letting the door shut behind them. They’re in a foyer facing large, mahogany double doors flanked by two beefy guards. Jeremy subconsciously flicks his eyes over them, scanning for weapons. Of course, they have many.

Ryan doesn’t seem bothered, instead slipping his wallet out of his coat pocket and leaning against a pillar. Jeremy can’t tell if he’s acting or if he really is this uninterested. The man on the left speaks up, voice gruff, “Names and IDs.”

Ryan waves his hand, lip curling in irritation, “Just give me a second.” Jeremy starts fishing through his wallet for his fake ID as Ryan hands his own to the guard. “Richard Yelf. It’s not my first rodeo here.”

The guard glowers at him but the man on the right turns to the last page of his list, scans, and nods to the other guard. They were trained to be smarter than to pick a fight with the patrons here. It’s a high-class joint that caters to the biggest names with the biggest reputations and the biggest wallets. Around here, that often includes high notoriety members of the underground crime network. If you piss off the wrong person here, you’ll suddenly have every member of a mob scrambling to get your severed head.

Jeremy hands over his ID and licks his lips, “Jay Vegas.” He’s trying to be as nonchalant as Ryan, but, based on the way his hands are sweating and his leg twitching, he’s not succeeding. Ryan eyes him while he slides his ID back in his wallet. The guards swing the doors open for them and they slide inside.

Ryan lowers his voice as he saunters forward, Jeremy at his hip. “The casino is a circle divided into four quadrants. At the center, there are all the card tables. In the circle around that, there’s roulette, then another circle around that of slot machines and e-poker. Those machines are pointed towards each the outer perimeter of the building, where there are four bars each with their own bartender.” There’s a notable divide between each quadrant in the form of large, clear alleys.

“So like the Smash logo but not off-center and with inner circles,” Jeremy murmurs.

Ryan smiles and shakes his head, “Sure, if that’s the way you want to look at it.” It’s 6 pm, so the casino isn’t bursting with activity, but there are a fair number of patrons already scattered around. Given the elite nature of the venue, the building is rarely ever bustling as much as a public casino anyway. “If we consider the quadrant containing the entrance door quadrant one, then the bartender Jack and Geoff are working with is in quadrant two and we are going to be in quadrant three.”

“To draw guards away from their location, yeah,” Jeremy says. They’ve been walking around the perimeter of the room for a while and, based on the bars, are now in the third quadrant. Ryan slows near a pair of slot machines with clear vantage points of the second quadrant bar and the center of the room so that they could attract the attention of people in the center when they act out. Jeremy sits on one of the plush stools facing the machines. Ryan stands over him, looking around with pursed lips.

A cocktail waitress in a small, sleek dress walks up to them with a smile, “Can I get you men anything?”

Ryan nods at her and rests a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “Can you get my husband and I some glasses of Chardonnay?”

A light, giddy feeling floats in Jeremy’s chest. He subconsciously brings a hand to his chest, fingers curled against the velvet. It feels strange, being treated this way. He knows it’s all just getting into role for the mission, but it’s still funny, these casual romantic gestures. He can’t remember the last time he’s had these.

As the woman nods and walks away, Ryan pulls his hand away to sit in the stool facing him. Jeremy watches her stride to the bar, gait effortless despite her tall, slim heels. He looks back to find Ryan’s gaze on him. Their thighs brush together when they’re facing each other like this, Jeremy’s legs together and Ryan’s spread around his so they can fit in the small space. It was built for players facing the screens, not turned towards each other.

Ryan reaches out and rests his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, fingers curled around the back of his neck. They are very close. “Are you scared?” Ryan asks, eyes soft.

Jeremy, slowly, blinks, eyebrows furrowing out of confusion. “Of you?”

Ryan smiles. “No. I mean, of the situation. Of having a mission like this as opposed to a more straightforward, violent one.” He sets his free hand on Jeremy’s knee, “Though, if you are afraid of me, now would be a fine time to say that.”

Jeremy huffs out a soft laugh and leans into the hand on his neck. “I don’t know,” he says, lips curved in a small, confused smile as he considers it. “I think I’m more used to the violence. That feels safer than this, as dumb as that is. At least if you mess up shooting, you can cover it up with more shooting. You can’t really fix fucked up stealth.”

Ryan nods, fingers drawing soothing circles on Jeremy’s knee. “I always like the violent missions more.” He laughs, voice low, “I feel more at home in a room with ten guns pointed at me than in a place like this sometimes. Though it would feel even better if I were the one with the gun pointed at someone.”

Jeremy smiles, nodding and looking down. _Shit, I haven’t done anything to establish a romantic image here. Ryan’s really carrying this whole escapade._ Guilt bubbles in his stomach, _I’m just the rookie dragging him down._ He tries to ignore that thought by focusing on the heavy, friendly weight on the back of his neck. He looks back up at him, voice low and sheepish, “I just tried to think of something romantic to do and my best idea was _dancing_. Imagine that, in a casino to the beat of dinging machines and poker chips.”

Ryan ducks his head as he laughs, watching his shoes before looking back up to lock eyes with Jeremy. “You have no idea how many dumb romantic things I have thought of while looking at you. All ridiculous and nonsensical,” he says, sliding the hand on Jeremy’s knee to his hip. Jeremy swears he can feel the warmth leaching through his suit jacket. Ryan’s fingers curl against the back of his neck as he moves closer. “Ideas of kissing your forehead or your jaw, or,” The corner of his mouth turns up as he runs a thumb along Jeremy’s cheek, “touching your face.”

“Sorry to interrupt you two,” the waitress says, smile apologetic but eyes certainly conveying that she does not care that much. “Here’s your Chardonnay. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

Ryan drags himself away from Jeremy to flash a smile at the woman, taking the glasses from her tray, “Thanks. Rum on the rocks, please.” She nods and leaves, Ryan turning his eyes to the slot machines.

Jeremy feels like he’s seeing stars, lips parted and brain short circuiting. _Hey, you know how I haven’t had anyone refer to me with any affection in, like, forever? Newsflash, I haven’t had anyone murmur about kissing me or hold me like a beloved porcelain doll in quite a while either! Why the **fuck** was I picked for the role of fake husband? Someone sets their hand on my shoulder and I goddamn implode. And look at me, talking to myself instead of acting like a normal human being while Ryan sticks to the mission. Nice job, me! Dickhead._

Jeremy blinks hard before taking his glass from Ryan’s hand and swigging a gulp. He reminds himself what the mission is and how Ryan’s doing it fantastically - _even adding extra sweet nothings just for anyone listening_. He’s gotta step it up. He downs the rest of his wine before slapping his hand onto Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan looks over at him, slightly startled. His hair is tied back more neatly than usual, with strands of loose hair framing his face. “Let’s do it then.”

Ryan stares at him before taking a sip of his wine. “Do… what?”

Jeremy can tell he’s red by how hot he feels, but he tries to act casual. “What you said. Kiss. Or whatever.”

It is difficult to emphasize how hard Ryan is staring at him. He sets his wine to the side. “Okay.”

A moment passes as they both look at each other. “So… what now?” Jeremy asks, palms sweating. He thought something cool would happen then. He didn’t think this hard.

“We kiss now. Because we’re married. And so we can’t just sit here and be awkward about it.”

“You’re also sitting here and being awkward!” Jeremy exclaims, balling his fists on his thighs. “You do something!”

“You suggested it!”

“No, you said it first, I just agreed.”

“Now we’re taking too long, we have to just do it.”

“Aren’t you a thespian, shouldn’t you be good at acting cool?”

“How did you know I was a thespian? Also, how _dare_ you say I’m a thespian.” Ryan looks away and starts shoving dollar bills into a slot machine to distract himself, “and I was cool ‘til it interrupted it and broke my, uh, method acting!”

“Quiet! We were already out of character!”

Ryan waves his hand in the air out of frustration, “If we were out of character, what was all my caressing earlier about? In that case, all the caressing was real and we’re already halfway to bone town!”

“I-- _bone town?_ ” Jeremy looks at him incredulously as the waitress walks up again, clearly uneasy with whatever apparent marital problems they’ve started.

She hands Jeremy the rum which he quickly takes a swig of before handing to Ryan. Ryan pulls the slot machine’s lever before looking back at Jeremy, not entirely interested in the slots. “Are you not familiar with the various romance towns?”

“Is it like the bases and bone town is the fourth and final base?”

“No, the final town is death town. Population 0. It’s got a big graveyard,” Ryan says, taking a gulp of the rum. The slot machine produces a sad trumpet for their lost 20 dollars. Damn. They aren’t doing the whole gambling thing right at all.

“Why is _death_ a stage of romance?”

“‘Til death do us part.’” Ryan squints and points the glass at him accusingly, “Don’t you remember our wedding vows?”

“Oh, my god,” Jeremy starts, snatching the drink back from him and inhaling it.

He starts to argue again before they’re cut off by a buzz in their comms. Gavin, voice crackling over the radio, hisses at them, “Can you guys do something romantic so I can bound up and yell at you, _please_? You’re just arguing with each other which I realize is stereotypical marriage but for the love of God just wrap an arm around each other or give me something that I can work with.”

Jeremy presses his watch to whisper his response, “Fuck, okay, can you just give me a minute? Goddamn, you’re the shittiest sugar baby ever--”

Before he can finish, Ryan surges forward, hand pressed on Jeremy’s thigh to steady himself as he presses his lips to Jeremy’s. Jeremy freezes, hand pulled away from his watch; Ryan’s cologne is overwhelming and his heat mildly intoxicating. He can see Ryan’s long, dark eyelashes curve over his closed eyes. His eyes close and his hand flies to land on the back of Ryan’s neck, tugging him forward without thinking as he parts his lips. Ryan slides a hand up his back, velvet sliding against his skin as he leans so close he’s barely still touching his chair.

Their lips lock together, the loud casino sounds blocked out by the sound of blood rushing through Jeremy’s ears as his heart beats out of his chest. He knows, now, that they’ve probably done enough. They’ve kissed long enough for the waitress to inevitably roll her eyes, for the bartender to inevitably get uncomfortable, for the nearby patrons to inevitably have taken note of it and long enough to have given Gavin something to work with. He is very away of the fact that they have now hit the perfect slot of time to conclude a perfect, passionate, lovingly-married, normal kiss.

His fingers slide up the back of Ryan’s neck to curl in his hair, tugging his ponytail as he kisses into him, open-mouthed. His brain is frying, overwhelmed by the ridiculous scenario and his touch, any touch, but _his_ touch particularly. He’s thinking a million words a second but he can hear the chorus of _Ryan, Ryan, Ryan, his hands are touching me, the hands of a handsome man who’s killed a million men, who’s killed with me._ Ryan breathes against his lips as he cups his jaw with one hand, the other still clinging to his back to try and drag him closer. Jeremy’s filled with the image of his eyes, his cool eyes, gazing into his in that cafe, and his cool eyes locking with his as he cleans the wounds on his chest.

Ryan’s lips are plush but callosed. His hair is soft in his clenched fingers. He’s vaguely aware that it’s only been a few seconds yet he feels positive that it’s been two hours and he’s prepared to stay here forever. He is positive that is heart is going to beat out of his chest.

“Stop!” A voice cries from behind them. Jeremy can feel Ryan’s lips abruptly ripped from his and, coincidentally, his heart viciously yanked from his chest into his lungs. He opens his eyes, bleary from confusion and a miniscule, pinpoint ache of disappointment, to see Gavin’s hand shoved against Ryan’s chest. He’s forcing him back, eyebrows furrowed. Ryan is struggling not to fall off the stool; Gavin is either unconcerned or unaware. “Why are you mackin’ face with _my_ boyfriend?”

_Oh, right. We’re in a mission. Ha!_ Jeremy thinks, rebooting his brain as Ryan hardens and his eyes turn cold and sly, “Your boyfriend, huh? Well, you must be mistaken. Because this man right here is _my_ husband. You must be mistaking him for another short devil.”

“No, he’s my boyfriend. Has been for two months now,” Gavin says, sticking his nose in the air with fists on his hips. “Right, Lil’ J?”

_Huh. I guess that works if my name was Jay, too. I’d like to be Big J at least in this fiction, though._ “Uh…” Jeremy rings his hands and looks around nervously. The waitress and bartender are squinting at them and whispering to each other.

Ryan stands up. He always seems bigger than Gavin because of pure muscle mass, even if he only has an inch or two on him. Gavin’s not deterred, instead stalking around Jeremy to stand his ground behind him, raising up onto his tippy toes. “You’re telling me you’ve been _cheating on me_ , not even with an attractive guy, but _with thi_ s,” Ryan seethes, gesturing wildly at Gavin.

“ _This_?” Gavin gasps, pressing a hand to his chest and stepping back like he’s been slapped. “I’ll have you know I am a _hunk_ of a young man. I have youth, I have vigor, and I have an extremely pliable anus, all of which you probably do not have. Right, Jay?”

“Uh…” Jeremy looks between them, reddening. He does not know enough about either of their anuses to make a statement.

Ryan clenches his fists and steps forward, “None of those things make you better than me! Just because you don’t know anything about the world and can’t last long in bed because of your fucking prepubescent dick doesn’t mean you’re the greatest the world has ever seen. There’s a _million_ of you, a thousand guys in the city that can replace you.” Jeremy is starting to feel like he’s in an angry guy sandwich, Ryan’s chest not far from his face and Gavin huffing behind him.

Gavin narrows his eyes and grabs Jeremy’s shoulders, forcing him back to lay against his stomach. Jeremy really wishes he was standing. “No, I’m perfect, I’m original, and he loves me! He loves me a lot and gives me lots of money because he wants to make me happy and show how much he loves me! Clearly he cares about me more, because if that bullshit with marriage is true, then he was so unhappy with you that he came _to me_.” Gavin leans forward and grins, “You’ve seen me before, right? Out for a night on the town with Jeremy. He came to my house on the first date. I bet he never went to yours. Because he was repulsed by you.”

_Well, the end seemed a little specific and a tad real._ Jeremy quickly stands up, awkwardly bumping against them as he does so, and nervously stands to their side. “Ah, maybe we can just talk about this--”

“ _He’s mine._ You didn’t make any effort to invite him out when we all first met, so I did. I’m closer to him than any of you. I know you didn’t fuck because he would’ve told me,” Ryan sneers. He crosses his arms and stares him down, lowering his voice, “Don’t try to bring anything real into this, Gavin. Don’t try to put me down for no reason. Keep this to acting, you know, how the mission _should_ be.”

Gavin rolls his eyes, “Like you weren’t trying anything earlier.”

Ryan looks to the side, miffed, and lets out a breath. He makes a show of cracking his knuckles as he continues, “You haven’t done enough yelling for me to justify punching you in the face yet. Get back on mission.” _What the fuck is happening. Did I miss something?_

Gavin sighs and shakes the nerves out of his shoulders and arms before throwing himself against Jeremy’s side, fingers tugging at his lapel. He leans his head against Jeremy’s chest, face pointed up at him lovingly, “Ignore this buffoon. He’s clearly just a violence-loving meathead. I’m gorgeous, and funny, and understand you.” He tugs at Jeremy’s suit, “You deserve a Lad.”

Ryan grabs Gavin by the shirt collar and hauls him off Jeremy, tossing him to the side. Gavin stumbles back, trying to un-wrinkle his collar. Ryan voice is gravelly but loud as he wraps a hand around Jeremy’s wrist, “What did I just tell you? Don’t bring up outside shit and _don’t_ touch my husband.”

They’re attracting quite a lot of attention now. Most of the eyes in the building are on them, their looks varying from entertained to irritated. A few guards have left their posts to stalk around them, trying to figure out when they would be justified to intervene. _Good, maybe we can end this soon_ , Jeremy thinks, though uncertain about what weird underground beef they’re bringing in. _Who knows if this fight real or acting anymore?_

Gavin grabs ahold of Jeremy’s arm and tugs his side against his chest, one hand going to tug Jeremy to him by the side of his neck. He grins devilishly, “We can have him choose, then. Me, or you.”

Jeremy opens his mouth but is unable to respond. Is he supposed to respond as per the mission or as real life? Ryan pushes past him, sidling up to Gavin and looking down at him, “He doesn’t have to. I can answer for him, by beating the shit out of you until you don’t come by here again. You saw how happy he was with me, and you see how he’s not coming to your aid. He didn’t even say he was dating you. He stayed on my side.”

“Try me!” Gavin says, shoving him. Ryan goes with the push, falling back a step as he stares at him. “Try it, try to hit me. He’ll try and stop you. No matter what you say, I know he’ll still care about me tons. Do it.” He shoves him again, “Try me, Vag. You wanna hurt everyone, I know you wanna hurt me.”

Ryan closes his eyes and lets out a breath, thinking. Jeremy takes a step back as Gavin lets go of him and Ryan opens his eyes. “You’re right, I do.” Ryan, elegant as ever, pulls back his hand and curls it into a fist, scarred skin stretching over knuckles. He then slams it forward into Gavin’s cheek.

Immediately, the guards are on him, pulling him back as Gavin falls to the ground, eyes squeezed closed as the sunglasses that flew off his face flop on the ground a few feet away. Gavin winces and presses a hand to his ear as he leans forward to skim his hand frantically along the carpet in search for his glasses. Jeremy looks back at Ryan to see him being quickly shoved towards the door, his hands pinned behind his back. Another guard looks at the two of them, lips pursed together. “I suggest you two leave.”

Jeremy nods, looking away quickly to hop over to Gavin’s side. He picks up his glasses and places them in his palm before helping him up. His cheekbone is bright red and already beginning to swell. Jeremy leads him by the arm, quickly following in the direction they took Ryan. Gavin yells after Ryan, “Only a bitch runs away from a fight!” Jeremy looks over at him. Gavin shrugs.

When they’re tossed outside, they see the inconspicuous black car of Michael and Lindsay peeling out of the restricted driveway to the back of the casino, closely following after an armored van in the distance. No alarms are sounding; their plan seemed to have worked. Even though everything went according to plan, Jeremy feels a little disappointed that he wasn’t able to use the bone knife Ryan gave him to hide in his shoe.

Gavin and Jeremy slide into the back seat of the car; Ryan got there a few moments before them, just long enough to take the driver’s seat and shift out of park. As soon as their doors close, Ryan presses the gas and they start to speed after the rest of the crew. The fading adrenaline of the fight leaves them in a stunning, overwhelming silence that makes Jeremy wish he could combust on the spot.

“So… mission went well, huh? They didn’t seem to notice anything,” Jeremy starts, awkwardly, voice almost squeaking. Gavin is sitting with crossed arms looking out the window. Ryan turns up the air conditioner.

“Like… best possible outcome, huh?” Jeremy says, trying again.

Ryan gives in, sighing and loosening his grip on the wheel, “Yeah. They didn’t suspect a thing. They seemed to have really believed us.”

Gavin slaps his hand on the seat, leaning his head back in anguish, “Jeremy, Ryan hit me!”

_At least we didn’t have to skip around the point._ “Yeah, he did, though we did know it had to escalate from the beginning,” Jeremy says, intertwining his fingers together nervously.

“Yeah, but we thought it was gonna be a light, acting slap or something! Or a shove!” Gavin tucks his head down and lifts up his sunglasses, tapping his cheekbone and the side of his nose gently. Jeremy wishes he had an ice pack or something cold to give him. “This is really gonna last. It’s gonna hurt to wear shades now.”

“So don’t,” Ryan says, peering at him in the rearview mirror.

“Don’t be like that,” Jeremy snaps.

Ryan raises his eyebrows at him before looking back at the road. After a minute, Ryan sighs and grumbles, “Sorry I hit Gavin so hard.”

Not great, but he’ll work with it because he doesn’t really understand the core of their argument. “Awesome. Gavin, do you have anything to say?”

“No.”

Jeremy leans his head back and squeezes his eyes shut, “God, this sucks.”

Geoff’s voice crackles over their comms, “Everyone out okay? We’re almost at the base.”

Jeremy presses his finger to the watch, “Yeah, we’re out. We’ll be there soon. We saw Michael and Lindsay speed off too.”

“This is Lindsay, one-two one-two. I stole a calendar from their break room so we’re pretty fuckin’ good if I do say so myself.”

“It’s a horse calendar,” Michael deadpans.

“Well, great. We only got 100k so we really needed that calendar. What’s the point of being a criminal if you don’t get horse memorabilia?” Geoff radios, sighing. 

As soon as the comm channels go quiet, Gavin mumbles, “I’m sorry I challenged your morality and called you old and stuff.”

“It’s fine. Let’s chat when we get back to base, just us, huh? Jeremy doesn’t need to be bothered with this, don’t you think?” Ryan obviously does not intend for this meeting to be optional. Jeremy’s eyes dart between them.

“I’d _love_ to, Ryebread. Now pump up some post-mission tunes so I remember what my real name is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these people went into a casino and barely did a single gamble. what the fuck. also, what is ryan's age in fahc? i assume everyone's a tad younger than their irl counterparts... oh well it's not that important
> 
> message me on discord @wash?!8705 or tumblr @gayfahc if you have any questions or are interested in beta reading!!


	7. Day Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter features 200% more climbing fences than prior chapters, for some reason
> 
> thanks to my beta reader ao3 user myarmada!

Jeremy jumps down from the black metal fence and, reflexively, lands in a roll before he straightens and looks back at the fence. Gavin is perched on top nervously.

“What if there’s a deep hole and I fall in and die?”

Setting down his bag, Jeremy smiles before wandering over. “You won’t fall in a hole and die, I’m right under you. It’s only a six foot fence. You just climbed it.”

Gavin whines and scrunches up his face, “But it’s scary, Jeremy, what if I--” he wiggles around on the metal railing, “what if I twist my ankle?”

“Here, reach your hand out,” Jeremy says, holding his hands up. Gavin tentatively stretches his hand out, knuckles white around the gate spike he’s clinging to. His fingers brush against Jeremy’s. “Perfect, hold my hand and I’ll help you down, okay?” Gavin nods, grasping his hand and slowly lowering one leg down. Jeremy sets his free hand on Gavin’s hip, coaxing him as he slips off the gate. Gavin yelps as he falls two inches before the shorter man catches him, death grip on his shoulder as his feet hit the ground.

He blinks blearily. “Well,” he says, releasing Jeremy and taking a step back, “I think I did that in an extremely masculine manner.”

Jeremy laughs. He bends over to pick his bag up off the grass and toss it over his shoulder again, “Of course you did. If anyone asks, you just jumped off and superhero-landed it.”

Gavin hums in agreement. “Hopefully nobody called the police and were like, ‘Oi, there’s a cat stuck on a fence howling outside my apartment. Exterminate it.’”

Jeremy scoffs, “They’d definitely mistake you for a bird, not a cat.”

“Right, sorry, what an idiot I am.”

It’s ten, the sky dark and starless as they cross the park. _Kind of shitty that they close the park at night with a whole spiked fence. If you wanted to keep homeless people out the park, couldn’t you spend that money on a homeless shelter instead of a big, ugly fuck-off gate? Also, why do parks even close? It’s nature, not a business,_ Jeremy grumbles to himself as they come into a large clearing blocked from the street view by a line of trees and a playground. Gavin slows to a stop next to him.

“You know, I imagine people hated playing Marco Polo with you when you were a kid,” Jeremy says, throwing his bag off his shoulder into Gavin’s chest.

Gavin huffs as he catches it and lowers to one knee as he opens it. “Oh yeah, they hated it. And so I obviously loved it,” he says, smile playing on his lips. “I wasn’t born blind so I wasn’t as good at listening as I am now, but I still had really shit vision, way worse than all the other kids. The type of shit vision you can’t fix with glasses.”

“Yeah… I think your whole life is kind of extreme Marco Polo now.” Jeremy slides a hand into his pocket as he watches Gavin. “I hated Marco Polo.”

“Missing out! We should go swimmies sometime and play,” Gavin says, devilish, before beaming up at him. “Okay, are you ready for the surprise I had for you from the bar last week?”

“Yep,” Jeremy deadpans before raising his voice and clapping overexcited, “Oh boy, oh boy, a surprise!”

Gavin rips two foam swords out of the bag, “Nerf sword fight!”

Jeremy grabs one and admires it, “Wow. Looks like shit.”

“Oh, total dog, innit?” Gavin agrees, standing. “I bought ‘em for like two bucks at a convenience store.” He takes a step back and strikes a pose, sword extended towards Jeremy, “En garde!”

"On guard," Jeremy deadpans in response before grasping the hilt of the sword and lowering his stance.

Gavin grins and sprints forward, leaping in the air, sword high above his head, before slamming it down onto Jeremy's shoulder. Jeremy yelps and jumps back. He tries to slash at Gavin's side but their swords clash. The sound of foam on foam makes a disappointingly weak thump. Jeremy steps back as Gavin steps forward, their swords smacking together over and over as they whack uselessly at each other. Jeremy looks back nervously; he is quickly finding himself cornered against the treeline. He dances to the side, thudding back a few steps before stabbing the tip of his sword forward into Gavin's side.

Shrieking, Gavin swings around to face Jeremy as he lunges wildly at him. They engage in another long winded _thump thump thump_ battle. Gavin pulls his sword high over his head and slams it down towards Jeremy's head; Jeremy narrowly blocks, slapping his sword up and stepping forward to push Gavin's sword back and slam his shoulder against Gavin's chest. Gavin gasps, furrowing his eyebrows and shoving Jeremy back. He takes his sword and, with one hand on Jeremy's shoulder, whacks him repeatedly on the side of the neck.

Jeremy tucks his chin down, squeaking with eyes squeezed shut, and pulls his sword up with both hands to smack at Gavin's sword. Gavin takes a step back, beaming, before Jeremy tackles him, shoulder against his stomach. Gavin wheezes as his back slams against the ground, grass cushioning his head as Jeremy kneels, straddled over him, and smacks his sword into his head repeatedly. Gavin protects his face with his hands, squealing, "Jeremy, stop! My beautiful face!"

"Ha! Ha! Ha!" Jeremy yells, moving to hit weakly at Gavin's chest instead.

"It's like a styrofoam cat's hitting me!" Gavin laughs, hand falling by his side.

“I’m very tough and hard!” Jeremy retorts, slapping Gavin’s cheek with the sword.

Gavin takes his sunglasses off and blinks at him, smile lopsided. “You don’t feel very hard.”

Jeremy flushes, “I mean, hard as in big and muscley, idiot.” He hits him again.

“Oh, which muscle is big, Lil J?”

Jeremy hits him one more time before rolling off of him and landing on the grass next to him. “All of them except for the dick.”

Gavin looks over at him, eye half-lidded. “Oh yeah?”

Jeremy smiles at him. “Oh yeah. Dick’s tiny.”

“Tiny dick J,” Gavin murmurs. He takes his earbuds out of his ears and slides them in his pocket, sunglasses discarded to the side. He crosses his hands over his chest and watches the sky as Jeremy watches him. A gentle breeze shakes the trees, the quiet sound of horns and traffic muffled by the brush.

“What did you and Ryan talk about the other day?” Jeremy finally asks. “After the casino mission.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s any of your business, is it?” Gavin hums.

Jeremy purses his lips and looks up. “I dunno. I’m curious. Y’all seemed kind of… mad for real during that mission.”

Gavin wiggles his foot subconsciously. “We just got carried away with the acting, hm? That’s all.” He looks over at Jeremy and smiles, “Nothing to worry about, J.”

Jeremy eyes him warily before looking back at the sky. “You’d tell me if it was anything important, right?”

“Oh, totally, dude, don’t worry. This is nothing.” Gavin beams, “Don’t let it worry your pretty little head.”

“My head is a little pretty,” Jeremy jokes. Gavin flops onto his stomach to be closer to him before nudging his arm with his elbow.

“That’s the spirit.”  
  


* * *

 

Jeremy looks up from where he’s sat in the shade on an old wood bench outside the old-timey country store as Ryan comes out. Ryan’s mask is next to Jeremy on the bench, as is Jeremy’s cowboy hat. They’re both in their full get-ups, which is unfortunate under the blistering heat of the desert sun. Ryan digs a water bottle out of his paper bag and hands it over to Jeremy. He gratefully accepts, gulping down half the bottle before capping it and leaning back against the bench. He wipes his forehead, eyeing Ryan, “Did they say anything about the face paint?”

Ryan shrugs. “He was eyeing my get-up but I just told him I was a juggalo, and then explained what a juggalo was. There was nobody else in the store.” He looks around, “I don’t know how the guy makes any money, this town looks pretty dead.”

Jeremy stands up and walks to the edge of the deck, peering down the vacant street. All he saw were run-down houses and dirt. “Yeah, it’s weird.” He looks down at Ryan’s bag, “What else’d you get?”

The corner of Ryan’s mouth turns upwards. He sets the bag on the bench before pulling out a tall liquor bottle and holding it proudly, “Champagne! To celebrate a job well done.” His voice is smooth, “that deal went over fantastically. The ammunition dealers were afraid of us and willing to give more to us than we gave to them. And it was your first time in an arms deal, and you did great. I think that gives us something to celebrate.”

Jeremy smiles and wraps his arm around a wooden beam supporting the building’s small awning. _He did all that for me! I’m a valuable part of the team! He likes me!_ “That’s awesome, dude, thanks! Do you have a corkscrew?”

Ryan looks down at the champagne bottle. “Hmm… No.” A devilish glint flashes in his eyes, “But we have the next best thing.” He turns around, holding the body of the bottle firmly with both hands, and slams the neck against the sharp corner of the wood beam, the glass shattering and flinging out across the deck. Bubbly foam shoots out of the jagged throat of the bottle, liquor dripping over Ryan’s fingers. He grins and lifts up the bottle, holding it above his mouth and letting the liquid pour into his mouth. He pulls it back and wipes his mouth. “I’d waterfall it if I were you.”

Jeremy shakes his head, incredulous, “Goddamn, Ryan, I could’ve just popped the cork out with a dagger. Now you wasted some!”

Ryan shrugs, “It was worth it. It’s not a party if something doesn’t get broken.” He walks forward to lean against the pillar Jeremy’s propped on and offers the bottle out to him. “Want some?” Jeremy lifts it and holds it above his head, closing his eyes before the champagne falls directly into his throat. He jolts, pulling the bottle away and swallowing hard before sputtering. Ryan raises his eyebrows at him, “Champagne too hard on you?”

Jeremy shakes his head, “No, it just went straight down my goddamn throat and I’m not used to that happening. I could outdrink you any day of the week.”

“Mm, not used to things being in your throat? I’ll mark that down for my dreams later.”

Jeremy ignores him in favor of taking another shot at the liquor. He fills his mouth, gulping it down as drops of booze slip down his chin. Ryan leans in and wipes it off with his thumb before meeting his eyes and sucking the sugary liquid off his thumb. Jeremy stares at his half-lidded eyes only a foot away from his, lips parted. Ryan hums, “You taste sweet.” He suddenly feels much warmer.

He fumbles the bottle into Ryan’s hand, “Sorry, I, ah, don’t want to hog it.”

Ryan smiles and turns his head away to take a messy swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He sets the bottle back in Jeremy’s hand, his own hands wrapped around his and the bottle as he meets Jeremy’s eyes again, voice honey, “I wouldn’t mind just drinking your runoff. This is, after all, all for you.”

Jeremy can feel the heat warming his cheeks. Ryan’s hands slide away and he steps away as Jeremy gently tugs the drink back. He looks at the messy bulletin board over the bench, reading it to try and distract himself to get the flush from his cheeks. As he’s bringing the champagne down again, free hand wiping at his mouth, an ad catches his eye. His eyebrows scrunch up. “Hey, Ryan, come look at this,” he says, uncertain.

Ryan walks next to him and sets a hand on his back, following his eyes to the ad. He pulls the paper off the board and looks at it. “Hm.” His hand slides down to rest on Jeremy’s lower back.

“I don’t suppose you brought a sniper rifle with you?” Jeremy asks, looking up at Ryan with a locked jaw.

A wide smile spreads across Ryan’s face as he looks down at Jeremy. His eyes twinkle with a dark delight, “I may even have two.”  
  


* * *

  
They targeted the tall watch posts first. The ground underneath Jeremy is hard and dry, sand crackling against his clothes as he shifts on his stomach. He sucks in a breath and holds it, stilling as his shot steadies, one eye closed as he aims down the scope of the sniper rifle. 3, 2, 1, _fire_. His shoulders rock against the recoil as he watches the guard fall noiselessly. The sand crunches as he moves the rifle to the left, the sights falling on the next guard post. 3, 2, 1, _shot_ , recoil. He takes a deep breath in, pressing his forehead against the gun. It feels good.

“The next two are looking at each other. We need to get them at the same time,” Ryan pipes up from where he’s standing to Jeremy’s left, binoculars pressed against his eyes.

Jeremy shifts his gun again, eyes focused on the sights, “I’ll get the guy on the right.” He looks over at Ryan as he crouches and lays, shuffling forward with his arms to get closer to where he set up his sniper rifle. He spends a few moments adjusting as Jeremy thinks about how funny the masked Vagabond looked wiggling around on his knees. _Vagabond has a good ass though._

“I’ve got the guy on the left,” Ryan says. Jeremy quickly looks back down his scope and slides his finger on the trigger. “3, 2, 1…” _Shot_ , recoil. Jeremy sucks in the scent of gunpowder as the two guards fall in unison.

“Do we wanna get the guys near the entrance gate?” Jeremy asks.

Ryan shrugs, lining up his gun with the gate, “The less guys the better. 75% chance nobody notices them. I’ll get the guy on the left. Are you ready?”

Jeremy aims. “Yes, I’ve got him. 3, 2, 1…” _Shot_ , recoil, silence. Nobody noticed.

They continue on that way for a while, picking off guards they see on the outskirts of the compound, until, after kneeling and checking through the binoculars one more time, Ryan nods. “It’s about time to go in. I’ll pack the rifles, you look around and get the layout,” Ryan says, offering the binoculars out to him.

Jeremy awkwardly rolls out of his lying position and takes the binoculars, unsteadily getting to his feet. He groans as he straightens, twisting to try and stretch out the creakiness in his muscles. “Fuck, that position does a number on my bones. I feel like I’m 100.” Ryan nods solemnly in agreement. Jeremy pulls the binoculars to his eyes and begins to scan around.

Heaven’s Hope, a premier shit-hole in the middle of Buttfuck-Nowhere Desert, only a couple miles outside of the shoddy town their deal had went down in. It has a tall, black, metal fence surrounding the rectangular camp with spikes curved in towards the facility. _To keep people in, not out._ Peering through the binoculars, he could see three cream-colored, dusty concrete buildings in a row along the fence closest to them, then another concrete building opposite the one farthest to the left with the entrance gate between them. Next to that building lies an old-looking, white, wooden chapel. Next to the chapel is a garden, then, in the back of the camp, closer to where they are, there’s what looks like a mud track with DIY training equipment, like scattered tires and random metal bars. Jeremy squints; it would register as, without a doubt, the sketchiest and shittiest summer camp ever.

“Where are all the kids?” Jeremy asks.

“If I had to guess, the chapel. It is noon on a Sunday and the place _is_ called Heaven’s Hope.”

Jeremy grimaces. “So, they’ll be letting out soon.”

“Maybe. Seems like we should get a move on to try and avoid that, though.” Ryan says, slinging the rifle over his back. He offers the other to Jeremy, who accepts it with a weak smile before slipping it on his back. Jeremy goes back to looking out over the compound, quickly losing himself in thought.

When Ryan sets a heavy hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, he jolts before realizing, with embarrassment, that he wasn’t looking through the binoculars anymore, just staring grimly. Ryan pulls up his mask, face sympathetic underneath the paint. “Hey, are you alright?”

Jeremy furrows his eyebrows, biting his lip as he looks at the camp. He closes his eyes, head turned towards the ground as he sighs, “Sorry, I don’t mean to get sidetracked. I shouldn’t be this bothered, ‘cause it’s not like I ever went to a gay conversion camp, but it’s just like… so fucked up to look at. I got bullied enough by other kids without also having to deal with my mom hating me so much she’d send me to a place like this.” Jeremy scoffs, “I mean, what was the tagline? ‘Fixing your kid at any cost?’ Can the ads scream _abuse_ any louder?”

“Your parents supported you?” Ryan asks.

Jeremy hesitates. “I never told her. But she didn’t hate me, I guess.”

Ryan nods. He watches the skyline for a few moments before the corner of his mouth is tugged upwards. “I… was raised extremely religious. Now I want to burn every Catholic church I see.” He looks at Jeremy with a crooked smile, “Isn’t it great how most old chapels are made of wood? It’s incredibly convenient.”

Jeremy lets out a breath and smiles back. “Did you bring matches?”

“I always have matches.”

“Good. Then let’s go.”

Ryan grins and follows after Jeremy as he starts walking down the hill they’re perched on. “I love when you get commanding,” he purrs. Jeremy snorts.

“Come on then, slut. We’ve got a fence to climb.”  
  


* * *

  
The chapel doors opened when they were almost done clearing out the back half of the camp, dead guards littered in corners and closets through the garden, training yard, and one of the buildings. Their backs were pressed against the walls on either side of the door to the main room of cots in building number 2, Ryan gesturing with his fingers _3, 2, 1…_ before they swung around and shot the two chatting guards through the doorway. The other guard in the room started to open his mouth to make a noise before Ryan turned and shot him in the forehead. He quickly crumbled.

Jeremy pauses, eyes flitting to the windowless wall. “Do you hear that?”

Ryan starts walking towards the front door, reloading his pistol as he peers out the window. “Yep. Our mission just got a lot more complicated.”

Jeremy groans, rubbing his face, “I don’t want any of the kids to get hurt, Ryan.”

Ryan doesn’t respond for a few moments, just staring out the window before speaking up, “Then don’t let them get hurt. They’re all wearing white polos and black shorts or a skirt. You need to make sure that they realize we’re not a threat.”

“Me? Why me?”

Ryan looks at him. “Because I’m wearing a skull mask. You at least just look like a walking idiot.” _Wow, excuse me--_ “Some of the kids are headed here now, so I need to leave. Make this building the refuge for all children and I’ll keep picking off the adults.” He cocks his gun, “I’ve never shot a nun before. This trip is full of new experiences.”

“How am I supposed to do all that?” Jeremy asks incredulously, shifting his hat nervously.

“Dunno. You’ll figure it out. Good luck,” Ryan says before pressing open the door and slipping away to the shadows on the outskirts of the camp.

Jeremy blinks before looking down at his gun and switching on the safety, quickly holstering it. He bends down and grabs one of the guards by the armpits and dragging him into a metal closet, quickly shutting the door after him. He’s able to smash the other two into a bathroom and run back into the main room before the back door opens. Shit. He hopes they don’t freak out of the blood on the floor. He smashes himself back against one wall so the guards can’t see him from the doorway and holds his arms up in surrender.

“Hey, where’s all the--” the boy stops when he enters the room. Jeremy brings a finger to his lips. The boy stares.

“Why’d you stop talking, Rob?” a girl calls after him before entering the room and also stopping to stare.

_Oh god, this is so much harder than shooting up a bank._ Jeremy clears his throat, nervous, “I’m here to help you. Don’t freak out.”

The girl whispers, “What the fuck,” before the boy, Rob, steps in front of her defensively.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Rimmy Tim, and I, uh…” _How do I make tiny repressed teenagers trust me?_ “I’m… gay… and me and my friend are going to get you guys out?”

Rob squints at him before looking back at the girl, and back at him, and back at the girl, and back at him. “Okay…”

_Holy shit they were easy to convince._ “Oh. That’s all you wanted to ask?” Jeremy says, slowly putting down his hands.

“We don’t really have any better options,” the girl pipes up, rubbing her arm. “I mean, some other guys would be more scared of ‘God’s wrath’ or the nuns or whatever but I’m… just tired of being scared.” Rob nods in agreement.

“Uh, okay, well, uh… I guess just try and convince other people to come in here too then. My friend’ll get all the people running this place out of the way while we bring them here to be safe and stuff until we’re done.”

“And then what?”

Jeremy purses his lips. “I call the police and run away? I dunno. You’ll either go back with your families or into foster care depending on what the cops find here. It’s not great, but it’s better than this.” He hesitates, “Do you… need to call anyone?” Jeremy stiffens as the back door opens again, hand reflexively going to his holster before the girl hops in their direction to start explaining the situation.

Rob bites his lip, “Can I call my friend? His family’s really cool and they don’t like my parents, they’ll take care of me.” Jeremy feels a wave of relief roll over him; at least they aren’t throwing all of them into bad situations.

“Yeah, of course.” He pulls his disposable phone out of his pocket and pauses before handing it over to them. Hopefully Geoff and Ryan don’t try to call him. Or, at least, they listen to who’s on the other end of the phone before talking. “You can keep it, just spread it to everyone that needs to call someone, okay? And, uh, in return,” he gives him a look, “Don’t pick it up if anyone calls, ‘kay?”

Rob nods and takes it, quickly typing in some numbers before pulling the phone to his ear. The girl comes back in leading three younger kids who all gape at Jeremy. Jeremy awkwardly tips his hat before glancing down at the puddles of blood on the floor. He tries to whistle nonchalantly while he grabs some sheets from the cot and presses them in the blood with his foot. He looks away as he wipes it before pushing it under one of the beds.

In the few minutes he spends half-assedly cleaning up the blood, eight people joined the room, all staring at him with wide eyes. He clears his throat and puts his hands on his hips, pushing his chest out and feigning confidence. “Hi, I’m Rimmy Tim and I’m going to bust you all the fuck out of here. With help from my friend, but it’s mostly me, obviously.” He bows forward and tips his hat at one of the younger boys, one who looks like he couldn’t be older than 12, “How’re ya doing?”

The kid stares up at him before licking his lips and squinting, “Are you a real cowboy?”

Jeremy pauses mid-bow before flashing a grin, “Darn tootin’. And cowboys never fail.”

An older girl in the back raises her voice, “Why are you dressed like an idiot?”

Jeremy straightens before flashing her double finger guns, “‘Cause idiots never fail. You are way too lax in this situation, my friend.” He claps his hands and looks around at them, “Now where do I find the rest of you?”

The girl who initially came in steps forward, raising her chin, “I’ll show you. I’ll help you.”

He flips his finger guns to her, “Not a chance, just tell me where to go!”

“No, I’m serious. Some kids are gonna scream when they see you. I’ll be there to convince them. It’s safer this way,” she declares with crossed arms, clearly too stubborn to be convinced otherwise.

Jeremy sucks in a breath. “How old are you?”

“17. And my name’s Vanessa. Now we need to get going before kids start heading to lunch,” she says, already starting towards the back door. Jeremy blinks at her. “Rob, you’re in charge until I come back.”

_Well, here goes nothing._ Jeremy jogs after her and lowers his voice, “Hey, I really don’t think this is such a good idea, it might get violent--”

“I don’t care. I want them dead.” She shoves open the door.

“I feel like you have some pent up trauma I’m not qualified to address so I’m gonna stick to not addressing it,” Jeremy muttered, sliding his pistol off his hip and clicking off the safety. They’re darting towards the door of the other dorm when the first scream rang out from across the building. _Fuck_. Vanessa shoots him a look. “In our defense we thought you would all stay in the chapel,” he hisses.

Vanessa slams the door open, “You’re supposed to _hide corpses_ , haven’t you played a Hitman game?”

“Why am I being yelled at by a 12 year old?”

“17,” Vanessa hisses before sprinting across the room, trying desperately to placate them. She had some success, but the damage was already done. The place is rolling into a red alert. Jeremy slides against the doorway and peers out to the quad as two guards start running. He swears under his breath, hopes to God no children witness anything, and cocks his gun before sliding out of the cover to pop shots off at the guards. They’re able to manage strangled yells before they fall, Jeremy sprinting out to point his gun across the quad and fire at the armed people running at him. He sees a flicker of black dart out of the third building across the quad and lay into the remaining guards in the field. _Ryan, thank god._

He dashes across the field, a few stray bullets and yells coming from the chapel as he dives past it into the fourth building. His chest is heaving by the time he enters the building, breath hard as he tumbles through the hallway and almost runs face first into Ryan’s back. Ryan fires and a man crumbles to the floor before he glances back at Jeremy. Jeremy raises his gun again and they start moving through the floor, shooting down two more before they’re at the back door.

“Do you feel like maybe this place has more employees than it should?” Jeremy whispers, Ryan peering through the glass to determine the safety of their route to the chapel.

“All of the employees are armed. They might have two real guards but the rest of them are just the people that do the quote unquote ‘fixing.’” Ryan’s voice is grim.

Jeremy bites his lip, “What was in the third building?”

“Exactly what we thought. Some electric shock machines, some emetics, some belts,” Ryan doesn’t emote. “Now’s not the time to think about that. There’s a priest on the steps of the church but that’s all. He doesn’t look armed.”

“Now we’ve found the big baddy and he’s gonna lecture at us to try and convince him not to shoot him, huh?” Jeremy deadpans.

“Seems like it.”

“Great, I’ve always hated that trope in movies,” Jeremy says, shoving past Ryan and stalking through the door. His eyes lock on the priest as he turns and opens his mouth to weave his monologue. In one swift movement, Jeremy cocks his gun, pulls it up to aim at the man, and shoots him in the head. Red splurts out of new hole in the center of his temple before he slips into a heap on the floor. Jeremy lowers his gun, breath coming out in hard, shallow breaths. He is distantly aware that he’s shaking.

Ryan lays a hand on his back and Jeremy closes his eyes, breathing out. “Ryan,” he starts, voice wavering, “I think I killed too many people.”

Ryan rubs his back in slow, steady circles while he thinks about what to say. Finally, he murmurs, “We’ll talk about it when we’re away from here, okay?” Jeremy nods. “Can you go tell the kids not to leave until the police come and then meet me at the car? I’ll call, okay? Can you do that for me?” Jeremy nods again, looking up at him. Somehow, the mask seemed a little empathetic. Ryan pats him on the back before pulling away. “Good. I’ll see you in five.”

Jeremy tries to psych himself up to appear confident and nonchalant again but the sounds of the children’s screams of terror at his violence keep echoing around his head again, and the sights of the crumpled bodies strewn around the compound aren’t helping. He rubs his arm; the morality of his actions are looking pretty grey. _But like, on the dark side of grey. My morality is a Payne’s grey._

He steels himself before he swings open the front door of the second building. As soon as he slips inside, the large eyes of 30 children are on him. He lets out a sharp breath, overwhelmed by the idea that they just traumatized a bunch of doe-eyed toddlers. He starts to open his mouth, unsure of what to say, before Rob sprints forward and wraps his arms around him, his head tucked into his chest. Jeremy stares down at him, arms up in surprise as the teen’s tears soak into Jeremy’s blazer. All he manages to croak out is a measly “Oh.”

Rob looks up at him with tear stained cheeks. “Thank you, Rimmy Tim.”

Jeremy gapes as one by one more of them circle around to join the hug, their stories swirling around the friends and relatives driving there now that they know or even their excitement to finally have reason in the eyes of the law to escape their guardians. Some of them don’t care about the road ahead of them as long as they’re out of there and as long as they know they aren’t fuck-ups. Somehow, despite how fucked up the whole situation is, and how unstable their future looks, and how damaged they may be, they’re hopeful. And, somehow, Jeremy gave them that hope.

What a weird world.

Jeremy was late meeting back up with Ryan. He had already packed up the truck, the engine humming as Jeremy jogged up and threw himself into the passenger seat. Ryan flashes him a smile, mask already discarded to the side, before he peeled off the road and drove deep into the desert, the faint sound of the police sirens approaching the camp fading behind them. Soon, they couldn’t even see the smoke billowing from the chapel, where flames licked up the church’s sides and ashes rained from the engulfed ceiling.

As the police sprinted into the camp, guns drawn and tight to their sides, heat radiated from the chapel, the sound of the fire roaring. Finally, a ceiling beam creaks loudly before it gives way and falls, smashing down through the floor. Other beams follow suit, wood falling through crumbling pews and crosses groaning before tilting and falling forward. Flames creeped down the stairs to dance around the priest’s shoes as a cop stumbles to a stop in front of the building, gaping.

Ryan offers Jeremy the warm and flat remains of the champagne. Jeremy takes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't do the bottle breaking thing! ryan's an idiot and wants to show off! in reality, they would've ended up accidentally drinking glass
> 
> i was worried it got a little blasphemous but a bigoted religion is a shit religion and people who torture children deserve very bad things ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> i wanted to feature ryan and jeremy's emotion talk in this chapter to explain more why jeremy kind of frizzled out at the end but the camp scene was longer than anticipated so it'll head off the next chapter
> 
> message me on tumblr @ gayfahc.tumblr.com or on discord @ wash?!#8705 if you want to be a beta reader or have any questions! i love all comments and support!


	8. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thanks to my beta reader ao3 user myarmada!

They drove for an hour before Ryan slowed to a stop in the mottled shade of a group of thin, dry trees. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and raised his eyebrows at Jeremy. “Wanna sit in the bed for a little while?” Waggling his eyebrows, he sings childishly, “I have some Cokeees~!”

Jeremy laughs and shakes his head at him, pushing open his door, “Sure, but you don’t have to say it like that, idiot.” Ryan hops out the car and beams at him before rummaging through the back seats for two bottles of Diet Coke.

It’s a tight squeeze in the bed of the truck. Boxes of guns, explosives, and ammunitions are loaded along the short walls of the truck bed, forming a horseshoe around them. Ryan lifts himself into the back and climbs over Jeremy to plop next to him, shoulder brushing against his as he fidgets to get himself comfortable. They’re close, only a few inches apart in the empty wasteland, bugs clicking and whirring all around them. Ryan hands him a Coke.

Gas hisses as Ryan cracks open the bottle, taking a swig as he watches the desert. He clicks his tongue before tilting his head at Jeremy, eyes sliding over to him, “You know, as far as freak outs go, that wasn’t a bad one. If that makes you feel any better.”

Jeremy leans forward, awkwardly tugging off his blazer, “I don’t think it does.”

“So, what messed you up?” Ryan asks, tapping his fingers along the side of the bottle mindlessly. “We’ve shot large groups of people before, in compounds and banks and shit. What happened this time?”

Jeremy sighs, tossing his blazer to the side. “I don’t know… it’s kind of dumb when I think back on it. You know what they say, you always hate the past you even if that past you was one hour ago.”

“Is that something they say?”

“Yeah, man. I’m an expert on idioms.”

Ryan raises his eyebrows, “I wasn’t aware you got your Ph.D.”

“I got an honorary Ph.D when I came out the womb because my middle name was Idiom-Master.”

“Jeremy Idiom-Master Dooley, hm?” Ryan muses. “I like it.”

“It’s really unfair that you know my full name and I don’t know yours,” Jeremy grumbled.

“Maybe we can trade information back and forth. You still haven’t told me what made you upset. You tell me that, you can ask a question about me. Deal?”

 _Fuck yeah, that’s a deal!_ Jeremy nods and bites his lip, shifting in his seat. “Well, um… it was a lot of people, but I don’t think that was inherently the problem. It was more like…” He looks down at his hands, frowning. “Like the things everyone says about how you need have a certain mindset going into missions, y’know? Your ‘persona’ or whatever. It was like the presence of children totally fucked that up. I was doing fine until kids started freaking out and then it was like… like _I_ was young again.”

He laughs pitifully, continuing, “I mean, a minute after that kid screamed I was running back to you like a little kid looking for a parent to guide them. I was just kind of thrown off after that. ‘Cause, you know, you don’t want there to be more people like us, right? Like, I like this life and this is the right field for me, but it still kind of kills me sometimes. How it puts everyone around you in danger and fucks up any plans for your future. Nobody _wants_ to grow up into this. We just get fucked up along the way ‘til this is what we’re doing.

“So then I just couldn’t stop thinking about that, and about how I didn’t want those kids to turn out like us because they could have much bigger and better things!” He runs a hand through his hair, Ryan’s eyes on him. “And I killed so many people and forced them to witness that, and so I started thinking, y’know, what if I wasn’t doing the right thing? What if I was just putting them through all kinds of trauma just so they can go back to shitty families anyway? And, like, what if they were brainwashed into valuing these people so I was putting them through a fuckin’ massacre.”

“They were already traumatized by the people we killed before we got there. You saved them from a lot more abuse. And if this program ran ‘til the end, they would’ve had to go home anyway. Now that the authorities know about the place, it’s ousted as being probably illegal and definitely child abuse so the kids have a better chance of living somewhere else,” Ryan says, reaching out to rest a hand on Jeremy’s knee.

Jeremy sighs, “Yeah, I know that now, it’s just like, I still wished I didn’t have to subject them to all of that.”

Ryan nods. A moment passes by before he bumps shoulders with Jeremy, eyes on him, “It’s funny how most of the people in our career path have fucked up pasts. It just seems horribly cliche, doesn’t it?”

Jeremy snorts. “Yeah. It makes sense, but it still feels dumb.” He looks up at Ryan with a giddy smile, “Now it’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Go easy on me.”

“Okay… what’s your full name?”

Ryan wrinkles his nose, “But if I tell you that, you can Google things all about me.”

Jeremy throws his hand up, “You know my whole name, you can Google all sorts of things about me!”

“Yeah, but like… shut up.” Ryan purses his lips, “This is hard. I shouldn’t have agreed to this.”

“This was supposed to be the easy question! It doesn’t delve into your deep dark backstory or anything!”

“But I kind of have a mysterious vibe I’m trying to harbor right now,” Ryan pouts. “And what if you leave the crew and sell out all my information?”

“Then you can sell out my information too! And I won’t. I promise.”

Ryan tilts his chin down and flutters his eyelashes up at up Jeremy, “Pinky promise swear to die?”

“I don’t think that’s how that goes but yes, pinky promise swear to die,” Jeremy smiles.

Ryan leans in, hand pressed against Jeremy’s thigh and long eyelashes fluttering, “Pinky promise we’ll be together forever?”

Jeremy snorts and puts his hand on Ryan’s face, pushing him backwards, “You can’t be cute when you have face paint on, or with the blood on your shirt.”

Ryan hums, leaning back and propping his arms on the boxes, “But if I wash my face and take off my shirt?”

Jeremy flushes, “Then you’re shirtless which makes you un-cute again.”

“But I was cute for a second when I had a clean shirt, hm?”

Jeremy huffs and puts his hands over his face, “No, nevermind, pretend I just said you’re incapable of being cute.”

“But you didn’t. I can’t lie to myself,” Ryan smiles

Jeremy groans, “Just tell me your name, Ryan.”

“Well, you seem to know it.”

“Your _full name._ ”

“James Ryan Last-Name,” Ryan says cheerfully.

“Ryan, I’m going to beat the shit out of you.”

“I feel like your questioning just isn’t clear.”

Jeremy turns to face Ryan to slap his hands on his shoulders. “Ryan. What the fuck is your last name.”

Ryan huffs, letting his head fall back as he considers the stars above. He sighs before mumbling, “Haywood.”

Jeremy lets go of him and grins, leaning back proudly with crossed arms, “See that wasn’t so hard!”

“Whatever,” Ryan grumbles before leaning forward and smiling mischievously at Jeremy. “You should be forceful more often, maybe I’d give in faster,” he purrs.

Jeremy can feel his ears burn. “We both know that’s not true, people are forceful all the time with you and you shake it off like nothing.”

“Mm, but they aren’t you.” Ryan slides a hand up Jeremy’s arm, murmuring, “Maybe you have something special.”

Jeremy opens his mouth, cheeks burning. _Oh god, this is too much touching for my poor heart. I haven’t gotten laid in too long for this._ “I, ah… um. I dunno,” he stammers. He presses a finger into Ryan’s chest accusingly, “Maybe you’re just trying to avoid more bonding questions.”

Ryan leans closer, one hand on Jeremy’s shoulder and one dancing up the back of his neck. “Maybe so. Is there anything wrong with that?” His breath is hot against Jeremy’s cheekbone, “Maybe I wanna bond in a different way.”

Jeremy rests a hand on Ryan’s hip without thinking, heat spreading down his neck, “You know how I call a lot of people sluts? I feel like you actually are a slut.”

Ryan pulls back to press his forehead to Jeremy’s, eyes set on his, “Do you want me to be a slut? Or would you rather me be more prudish?”

Jeremy feels breathless, heart pounding out his chest as his eyes flick down from Ryan’s gaze to his lips. He’s overwhelmed by the memory of the casino mission, of their kiss, of his calloused lips scarred from years of violence perfect against his own. He subconsciously licks his lips before meeting Ryan’s eyes again, pretending he wasn’t just ogling the entire shape of his mouth. “You have a dumb last name, did I mention that? Because it’s pretty dumb. I would accuse it of being fake but it’s too stupid for you to come up with.”

Ryan smiles, eyes relaxed as he stretches his fingers up to play with the hair on Jeremy’s nape. Jeremy shivers. “Aw, you think I’m smart. You’re so sweet.”

He isn’t sure why, but it feels like every molecule in Jeremy’s body is rebelling, every atom trying to pull him closer to Ryan. Ryan, with his sharp jaw and long hair that felt so soft in his fingers. Ryan, with his eyes so blue and clear he could feel himself falling into them, falling into the endless ocean waves swallowing and constricting around him. He reminds himself to breathe. “If you were really smart you’d use this great opportunity I provided you for delving into the deep inner psyche of your friend.” _That definitely could’ve come out cooler if I wasn’t bright red, breathless, and awestruck._

“Mm, your game, right,” Ryan hums. The hand not thumbing at Jeremy’s nape slides up his side to hover on his collarbone, his thumb brushing over Jeremy’s throat. He pulls him a little closer, foreheads still pressed together. “Here’s my question for you, then: is there anything wrong with a little distraction from your emotions?” His words are intoxicating, his voice slipping lower, “It’s always good to clear your mind every once and awhile.”

Jeremy presses a hand against Ryan’s chest, not to push him away but to feel him. He can feel the steady but fast thumping of the older man’s heart. _He has some built pecs. I wonder what the rest of him looks like._

He isn’t sure how much longer he can take this.

Their lips are inches apart, Jeremy’s parted and longing as he breathlessly murmurs his answer, “I’ve always wondered what the Vagabond’s muscles felt like.”

Ryan’s smiling when he leans forward and connects their lips. Their kiss starts soft and slow, Jeremy tentative as his hands still and his full brain power is converted to focusing on Ryan’s mouth.

It's strange; when they first kissed in the casino during their mission, Jeremy could feel his brain short-circuiting and his heart beating out of his chest. One would think the second kiss would be less intense but instead he swears he's having a heart attack. The intimacy of the kiss, of Ryan leaning over him, of the light swooshing of wind through trees surrounding them, of the utter silence of nobody watching, of knowing that he is kissing him not for a show but because he wants to.

Jeremy melts.

His lips part, tongue slipping between Ryan's lips as he reaches up to gently cradle his jaw. He curls his fingers into Ryan's hair, tugging at his ponytail to try and feel more of his locks. Ryan breathes out against his lips as he shifts, sliding a knee between Jeremy's legs to pull himself closer. He tugs him forward, fingers digging into the back of his neck and thumb still on his throat as he presses his tongue against Jeremy's before pulling away from the kiss with a wet sound. His voice is huskier, eyes lidded as he smiles, "Did you still want to find out what the Vagabond's muscles feel like?"

He almost faints. For a brief moment, the image flashes through his head of the Vagabond, cool and cruel killer with his hand wrapped around Jeremy's neck pushing him down into the ammunition boxes, biceps bulging as he watches him with sly eyes. A heavy breath slips from Jeremy's lungs as he looks up at Ryan with wide eyes. "Yes."

Ryan grins as he leans in, pressing his lips to Jeremy's cheekbone before wrapping his hand around Jeremy's and guiding it to the hem of his t-shirt. Jeremy gazes down at Ryan's waist as he slips his fingers under his shirt, his other hand tangled in his hair pulling him tighter against his face. Ryan laughs against him, kissing down his cheek and sucking at the skin along his jawline. Jeremy pushes his shirt up, fingers skidding along his stomach before he huffs, "Your big head is in the way, I can't see your tits."

Ryan snorts before pulling away and sitting back on his heels. He pulls his hands away from Jeremy to instead tug his shirt off by the back of the neck, fabric slipping away to reveal the smooth expanse of his chest, pecs built and muscles well-defined under his pale skin. Jeremy's eyes flutter shut as he leans forward and presses his lips to his stomach, one hand hooked on a belt loop on Ryan's hip as the other slides up his chest to press against his breast, one thumb brushing over his nipple.

He pulls Jeremy's head closer, hand gripped in his short hair as he tucks his head down. Jeremy smiles, pulling away to look up at Ryan as he smooths his thumb over Ryan's nipple again. Ryan bites his lip and looks to the side, cheeks red. "So, the big bad Vagabond has a thing for his nips being touched, huh?" Jeremy bends further forward until his breath is warm against Ryan's breast. "So I wonder what would happen if I..."

As soon as Jeremy's tongue connected with Ryan's skin, the loud ringing of a cell phone jolts them out of their bubble back into the muggy reality. Jeremy pulls away, startled, as Ryan's back pocket yells its siren song. Ryan groans, face contorted in frustration as he lets go of Jeremy's hair and digs in his back pocket for his phone. He answers it, voice hissing, "Hello?"

Jeremy can clear the quiet tinny voice of Geoff coming from Ryan's phone. "Great, hello to you too, dickhead, nice to hear that everyone involved in this situation is chipper," he grumbles back, irritation bleeding from his voice. "Listen, you wanna tell me why the fuck I called Jeremy's phone and someone who was very much not Jeremy was on the phone? And why I heard shit all from you on this fact? And why the fuck you aren't back here even though you should have been thirty minutes ago?"

 _Oh, fuck. What am I doing? I'm trying to have weird sex with a coworker in a truck in the middle of nowhere on work hours surrounded by illegal weapons after committing minor genocide. There's about twenty different things wrong with this scenario._ "Shit," Jeremy mutters under his breath, hand sliding down to rest on Ryan's hips as he leans back.

Ryan looks like a mix of miserable, disappointed, and angry. His voice mainly conveys the angry. "We had a detour."

"Uh, yeah, back to phone thing. You know I don't give you disposable phones just to give out to people, right? Like, the disposable part is tossing it in the garbage after you're done with it, not just losing it or handing it to the nearest child. You know we're criminals, right? And I could've given up sensitive information thinking it was in Jeremy's hands."

"That sounds like your problem if you're blabbing information over the phone without asking who's on the other end. What if we were being tortured and our phones were taken from us? It's the same shit you told us to do, double and triple checking everything until our eyes fall out of our brains from boredom," Ryan says, tugging out his ponytail so his hair falls over his shoulders. Jeremy likes him with his hair down.

"Whatever, I'll interrogate you whenever you're back. Where are you?"

Ryan looks off across the dry landscape. "We're about two hours away,"

"Two hours away?! What the shit's wrong with you people, this was a simple run with a simple time limit, you are aware you're carrying illegal bombs, right?" Jeremy winces as Geoff rants, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Goodbye, Geoff," Ryan says, dry.

"Do not hang up on me you piece of shit--" Click. Ryan shoves his phone back in his back pocket before huffing and leaning against a box.

"So," Jeremy says, awkward but not enough to avert his eyes from Ryan's bare chest. "We should probably get heading back before Geoff castrates us."

Ryan sighs as he climbs off of him, falling beside him again. "Unfortunately."

"Not that he won't castrate us anyway."

Ryan tilts his head to one side, "He practically has already, in my opinion." Jeremy flushes. Ryan slowly climbs to his feet before reaching out to offer his hand to the other man. He takes it, unsteadily rising to his feet to climb awkwardly out of the truck bed.

"Are you gonna have to put your shirt back on?" Jeremy asks, hopping down and swaying against Ryan before finding his land feet. He's still closer to him than he usually would dare.

"Unfortunately," Ryan hums, grabbing his shirt from the bed and tossing it over his shoulder, "I have to eventually."

Jeremy groans unhappily before resting his head on Ryan's arm and gently brushing his breast with a thumb. "At least I know your secret weakness now."

Ryan huffs and pushes him away, cheeks tinged a deep pink, "Whatever. At least I broke your bonding game." Jeremy yelps indignantly in response as Ryan strides forward and hops in the driver's seat of the car.

* * *

 “So, Jeremy, as much as I’d love you to keep the look you have right now,” Ryan starts, clearing his throat, “I don’t think Geoff will be lenient on us if we come back with you looking like that.” Jeremy looks over at him, confused. They’re ten minutes from the base now, having just dropped off a few boxes in one of their safe drop-off points. “Not that I don’t like it. Because I do. Deeply.”

Jeremy looks down at his suit, “Uh, thanks? I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’ve worn this before.”

“Not that, dumbass. Your face.”

Jeremy scoffs before pulling down the sun visor and flicking open the vanity mirror. His cheeks flush as he sees the slight tint of face paint littering his cheek and jaw and staining his lips. “Ah…”

Ryan looks over at him with a smirk, “There’s napkins in the glove department.”

* * *

 Sure, Geoff was irritated. He ranted on and on about security and the importance of having a stable line of communication and of using said line of communication. He shot questions about what they were doing for the extra two hours that Ryan expertly dodged with shrugs of “went shopping,” “took a detour,” and “admiring the scenery,” all of which were _technically_ true but not really what Geoff was looking for.

Eventually, though, he gave up, sighing and muttering about how he regretted hiring them all as he wandered away. They were released after getting the remaining boxes safely into their armory and promising that it would never happen again. They recognized his irritation was based mainly on his worry for the crew and didn’t run deep, so it didn’t phase them much.

No, that was all fine. The real anger came the next day.

Jeremy walks into the common room at the crack of 10 am slurping an iced coffee and carrying a large plastic bag filled with donut boxes. Michael looks up at him from his place on the couch, controller in his hands, “Oh, dude, you’re boned.”

Hm. That’s not how he expected today to start. “That doesn’t sound good,” he lifts the bag, “I brought donuts.”

“That’s great,” Michael says, tapping at his controller to make his bunny avatar hop forward. “Now you’re boned but you have donuts.”

“Aaand _kolaches_ ~,” Jeremy sings, wiggling his eyebrows. “Am I in the clear now?”

“In my heart? Yeah, absolutely. But I have no idea what you did to make Geoff pissed.” Michael sighs as his character flops into a pile of spikes before he sets the controller down and stands up. He stretches, arms behind his back and chest pushed in the air, before huffing and slouching over again. He wanders over to Jeremy, snatching the bag from him and setting it on the nearby table, “What’d you do to earn his scourge this time?”

Jeremy furrows his eyebrows, leaning against the table, “I dunno. How do you know he’s angry? I know he was annoyed yesterday ‘cause we were late but he seemed to get over that.”

Michael pulls out the boxes, popping one open and shoving a cake donut in his mouth. “He stomped in here yellin’ and raving about how he was gonna skin you, I dunno,” he says, words muffled by donut. He sips some water so his voice is clear when he eyes Jeremy, “I don’t know about your relationship with him but to me that seemed like he was maybe just a tad peeved.”

Gavin wanders in from the back hallway, scratching at his chin while he walks towards them, “What’s happening?”

“Jeremy’s gonna be skinned alive by Geoff soon. Want a donut?”

Gavin gasps, “I would love a donut! Who brought them?”

“The man of the hour, Jeremy Dooley.”

Gavin skips over, beaming, “Hi Jeremy! I loved you when you had skin, it’s a shame you’re gonna lose it. Thank you for the donuts!” Michael hands him a chocolate glazed donut which he gratefully accepts.

Jeremy winces, “You guys are not making me feel very confident about what’s about to happen. I liked having skin too.”

Michael shrugs, “I’m sure you can still do this job without skin, you’ll be fine.”

The elevator dings. Ryan, adorned in his mask, walks in soon after, Matt trailing behind him. They all stare at them before Ryan gestures, “I brought a stray.”

“Matt? What are you doing here?” Jeremy asks, blinking.

“I mean, I do work here too. Geoff told me to come in for some hacking shit, I don’t know what about yet. Are those donuts?” Matt zeros in on the pastries, swooping forward to grab one.

“Dude, you’re just in time for seeing Jeremy get his skin removed,” Michael says, chewing.

“Alright, let’s not go crazy now, we’re really over exaggerating what is probably gonna be not a big deal--” Jeremy starts, waving his hands.

“Jeremy’s getting his skin removed?” Ryan asks, striding forward to join the growing cluster around the donut table.

“Man, I’m glad to be with you in your last moments or whatever,” Matt says, mouth full.

“I am not getting skinned--”

“I heard someone’s getting skinned?” Lindsay pipes up, jogging from the hallway into the common room.

Jeremy throws his hands up in disbelief, “What the hell? I have literally never seen this many people here at once, did all of Los Santos come?”

“You’re the one who announced you were gonna get executed,” Gavin offers, nudging him.

“First of all, no I’m not, that was Michael--” Michael nods in agreement “-- _And second of all, I’m not getting executed._ ”

“There are you, you son of a bitch!” Geoff hollers, stalking into the room and jabbing an angry finger at Jeremy.

“I dunno, it does kind of seem like you are getting executed,” Lindsay whispers loudly.

“Uh, hi Geoff,” Jeremy tries, waving weakly. He gestures towards the table, “I brought donuts?”

“You’d’ve better! Maybe now I’ll think twice about cutting off your balls and feeding them to the sharks!” Geoff stomps towards him.

“Goddamn,” Ryan says.

Geoff swivels towards him and stabs a finger at him too, “You’re not free either, Vagabond. Your balls are also on the line here.”

“Well that just seems unrealistic,” Ryan peers at him.

“Jeremy, Ryan, go sit down. Peanut gallery, do whatever, I don’t care,” Geoff hisses. Jack sips a mug of tea from the corner, watching with slight amusement. Jeremy and Ryan waddle over to the couch, sitting awkwardly as Geoff stands over them. Michael, Lindsay, Matt, and Gavin are giving each other looks from the donut table. Geoff takes a deep breath in, folding his hands together and looking down at them. “Ryan. Jeremy. Yesterday you went to an arms deal, correct?”

“Uh… yes.”

“And you were instructed to keep this on the downlow, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So, do you want to tell me why Rimmy Tim is trending on Twitter?”

Jeremy blinks and clicks his tongue. Hm. He would love to know the answer to that too. “Ah… Is it the name of a soccer player?”

“No, nope, this Rimmy Tim reportedly wears purple and orange and a cowboy hat, says Instagram.” Geoff’s voice is tight.

Jeremy looks down, picking at his beard nervously, “That does sound like me.”

Geoff looks back at Jack and gestures to her, at which point she nods and changes the channel on the television away from the xBox game to the news. The newswoman blares, “The children are reluctant to give information but it has become clear that the primary perpetrator was a white man with a beard most likely in his 20s. There were also reports of a secondary assailant who helped in the attack, but none of the children report seeing him.” Jeremy’s lips part, the color draining from his face.

  
The scene changes to a reporter on the ground, a man stopped in front of the gates of Heaven’s Hope. Images flash by of the various blood stains littering the camp. “Despite the gruesome nature of the killing, many people, particularly younger men and women, are standing up in defense of the suspect they call Rimmy Tim. A campaign is raging across various social media platforms as supporters tack purple and orange emojis in their profiles or use various hashtags in order to show their support. The subject is dividing the Internet as others call for his swift arrest under any means necessary. The death count for the Heaven’s Hope massacre is currently at 26, all of whom are employees of the religious establishment.”

Jack turns off the television and turns back to Jeremy, who’s sat pale and stiff. He can feel the shocked eyes of the people behind him burning holes in his neck, their silence deafening. Geoff looks at him expectantly, his elbows on his knees and hands locked together.

Ryan clears his throat, voice dry, “I don’t think this is something we need to discuss with an audience.”

Geoff raises his eyebrows, “No? Because right now you have the attention of the entire US. We’ve got maybe an hour until they connect all that to us. The only reason they haven’t yet is because the witnesses were obstinate and we pulled out a few favors with the news agencies.” He leans back, “If you’re trying to make this a private affair, you aren’t doing it right.”

“I-I’m sorry, Geoff, I didn’t realize--” Jeremy starts, eyes flicking between him and the ground.

“You didn’t realize what, huh? That killing _26_ people in one place would have some consequences? Or that it would attract the attention of the media?” Geoff scoffs, leaning back, “I mean, you didn’t even do it in Los Santos. You did it a few hours away near one of our meeting spots with no information back to us and then tried to hide it.

“You realize we’re in a bad place now, right? And that your actions reflect back on us? Now they’re going to start reporting that our crew is expanding past our borders to try and wage war on all religions or something.” He rubs his face, “I’m gonna have to do a lot of clean up after this shit.”

“It wasn’t without a good cause,” Ryan says, smooth. “It’s not a bad time to further assert ourselves as a moral vigilante mob.”

“Maybe so, but it would’ve been way more efficient if we planned it in advance, or had all of our team members aware of it, or had it within our borders or _something, anything_ , any planning would’ve made it better.” He sighs, “Since you’ve shown that I clearly shouldn’t trust you on your own, Jeremy, I’m gonna put you on probation.”

 _Oh, great, I’ve been in the crew, what, one or two months and I’m already proving myself to be a weak link._ Ryan nudges him, “I’ve been on probation before, it’s not that bad.”

Geoff points at him, “Ryan, you’ve on double probation because this is like the third time you’ve just randomly caused a fucking massacre. Ryan. Stop it. Holy shit. I paired you with Jeremy for this so you could be the wiser guy teaching him all the steps and you go and do this shit.”

Gavin pipes up from the back, “To be fair, that’s what you get for assuming Ryan would be wise.”

Ryan turns around and looks at Gavin, blue eyes peering through his mask, “I’ll kill you.”

Gavin blows him a kiss. Matt slowly steps behind Lindsay to hide from Ryan’s glare.

Geoff stands up, clearing his throat before starting his tirade of orders, “Matt, come with me. We need to do some clean up on some of these news outlets and find out what they know. Jeremy, go sit in time out and think about what you’ve done. Lindsay, bring me Trevor, and Michael, bring me some kolaches. Ryan, Gavin, stop being who you are as people. Meeting adjourned.”

Everyone starts moving immediately, Lindsay grabbing her purse and walking towards the elevator as Michael grabs donuts and Ryan and Gavin pout. Matt slows next to Jeremy, resting a hand on his shoulder with furrowed brows, “Hey, man, are you alright? What happened? Was that really all… you?”

Jeremy stands up, letting out a breath, “It’s not what it looks like, I did the right thing--”

“Matt! We don’t have all day,” Geoff pokes his head out his door, irritated. Matt bites his lip before nodding at Jeremy, uncertain, and darting away.

Ryan stands up and offers a hand out to Jeremy, helping him to his feet. “You did do the right thing, don’t worry. They’d all agree if they knew the full story. Don’t have any regrets, okay?”

Ryan’s hand is warm against his own. He smiles and nods, “You’re right. I’m cool. Everyone’s gotta make a little trouble.”

“That’s the spirit,” Ryan winks, clapping him on the shoulder. Jeremy watches him; _it’s no fair that his eyes can still be so pretty even when he’s wearing a mask._

He’s jogged out of his thought by the clap of a hand on his shoulder, Gavin tugging him and whining, “Jeremy, bring me to get ice cream.” He sticks his nose up, smug, “You’re on probation so you have to.” Ryan peers at him eerily before letting go of Jeremy.

His last thought as he’s dragged away, stumbling after Gavin, is that maybe probation won’t be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will feature alfredo! god bless him  
> i'm also going to be going back and naming all of the prior chapters because i've decided i should be able to figure out what's going on when i look for past scenes
> 
> i subsist entirely on your comments, no matter how small! thanks for the support!


	9. Probation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to my beta reader ao3 user myarmada!
> 
> This chapter is only explicit at the very end so you can read safely until then ;p

_Day six of probation: I’m going to blow my brains out._

Apparently, the main part of being on probation is that you have to do patrols, something usually left to the lower tiers of the Fake AH Crew umbrella. That alone would be okay; Jeremy would be fine with shoving in some earbuds and blasting rock until his eardrums burst while he jogged around the town. What’s not to like about good tunes, exercise, and sightseeing?

But no, of course that would be too nice. No, he has to be _paired up_ to do patrols, meaning he has to slow down and make awkward small talk with some people he doesn’t know and doesn’t really need to know. And Matt was busy hacking under Geoff’s watchful eye so he couldn’t even patrols with him. He got stuck with the _other_ dregs of B Team.

Andy was an idiot. He lived up to Michael’s scornful reviews, his face quickly reddening at every bitter joke he and Jeremy passed back and forth. Trevor was okay; he was pretty funny and seemed to know a lot about the crew and every place they passed. Steffie was adorably helpful, always jumping to provide Jeremy with whatever dumb thing he wanted and supporting his ridiculous ideas for things they _had_ to pick up from Walgreens. And Larry and him just had a lot to say about video games.

So, maybe patrols weren’t the _worst_. But they were still unbelievably boring and he could feel his brain melting from the lack of action. At least when he was on his own he could go hunting for a fight or a pocket to pick when he was feeling restless. Now if he tries to go home early, Geoff reels back in his leash and makes him go on another errand.

Dear God, there were so many errands. Taking Gavin to get ice cream ended up being the beginning of a downward spiral of bullshit jobs like getting them milk and eggs when they ran out, grabbing them pizza and donuts, being a messenger boy for stupid classified Fake AH business, and getting Geoff his coffee when he can’t bear to stand up and grab it from the table. The second he sits down to try and take a breath, Geoff’s yelling for him to grab paper from the printer or Gavin’s whining that he should take him somewhere.

Jeremy tucks his head close to his body, jumping from side to side before launching a volley of quick punches onto one of the punching bags in the small Fake AH gym. He takes a step back, rubbing his sore knuckles before leaping forward again and slamming his fist into the leather, thinking as he does so, one _hit to the face_ , he shoots a lower punch, _another to the stomach_ , he pulls his knee up sharply, _hit the groin_ , he shoves forward with his elbow, _elbow down on the back of the head._

He’s about to throw out another series of fast punches when a hand steadies the swaying bag and leans against it, grin flashing. Jeremy lets out a breath, his heart flipping in his chest as he looks up at him. _Ryan_. “You know it’s not safe to stand behind punching bags,” he smiles, shaking out his hands.

“Turned out fine for me. I’ll be sure to grab you suddenly from behind next time I want your attention,” Ryan hums, arm wrapped around the punching bag.

“Shut up. I haven’t seen you around in forever, where have you been?” Jeremy asks, undoing the tape around his knuckles.

“Six long days away… Did you forget our pinky promise to be together forever?” Ryan leans in.

Heat floods through Jeremy’s face as the memory of his bare chest and lidded eyes flashes through his head. He bites his lip, shaking the thought away, “You’re the one who’s never around, dickhead. I’m here all the time. Too often, in fact.”

“Geoff’s been having me dart around the city intimidating people. Only intimidating, he won’t let me lay a hand on them, just lets me stomp menacingly.” He sighs unhappily, “It’s awful. I’m going stir crazy. It’s a perpetual blue balls.”

“I know what you mean, dude. I’ve got someone with me at all times ‘cause he doesn’t trust me alone or something. It’s just 24/7 patrols and stupid errands. You’re lucky you get to do anything exciting, or even be alone at all.”

“Maybe they’re putting you with people in boring situations to un-indoctrinate you from my evil teachings,” Ryan murmurs. “And they’re trying to teach me murder isn’t always the answer.”

Jeremy scrunches up his nose and crosses his arms, “I’m pretty sure I should be insulted. And whatever their goal, it’s not working. Now I just want to punch _anything_.”

Ryan closes his eyes, “Yeah, I’ve just been daydreaming of more exciting scenarios.” He opens his eyes, tilting his chin down mischievously, “I’ve got great ideas for our next outing.”

Jeremy rests a hand against the punching bag, edging closer, “I’d love to know more. At this point, I’d even go for hypothetical violence.”

Ryan hums in approval, “I’m thinking we lure someone.” His hand slides forward, fingers playing with the hem of Jeremy’s shirt. “I play the crazy ex-boyfriend jealous of your new hit, maybe.”

Jeremy bites his lip, grin playing on his lips, “Can we do the thing where, when he reaches across the counter towards my hand, you stab a knife through his hand?”

“We can do whatever you want,” Ryan purrs.

Jeremy lets out a breath. Ryan’s very close. He couldn’t step closer even if he wanted to. “I haven’t seen you without face paint in forever.”

Ryan slips his hand onto Jeremy’s hip, voice low, “I could show you right now if you join me in the showers.”

“ _Jeremy take me to get sno-balls right now_ ,” Gavin’s loud voice hisses. Jeremy’s dragged out of his moment of extreme heart eyes to stumble back, ears burning.

“Right now? He was in the middle of training,” Ryan says cooly, eyes hard.

“He’s on probation, he has to run errands,” Gavin says, grabbing Jeremy’s wrist, “He can train later.”

Ryan stares at him, jaw set. There’s a palpable tension in the air between them, some harsh conversation going on without Jeremy’s awareness. He glances between them awkwardly before being tugged out of the room.  
  


* * *

  
“But I don’t wannaaa,” Gavin whines, leaning in his chair to lay his head in his arms on Geoff’s desk. “It’s always so annoying, getting new recruits. They always act the same, and you know I’m bad with new people.”

Geoff threads his fingers together, ignoring his cries. He casts his eyes over to Jeremy, the other person in the chairs facing his desk. “The recruit is Alfredo Diaz, a Los Santos police officer with a boner for the crew. He single-handedly destroyed _all_ of the information the LSPD had on the Fake AH Crew a few days ago, all without attracting attention to himself because of his excellent strategic abilities and acting skills. He’s been doing minor favors for us for a few months, but this move has surpassed everything he’s done previously.” He rests his cheek on his clasped knuckles, “Our associate Gettys also insists he has a lot of skill with research and planning operations.”

_Damn. I never did any of that shit. This guy must be a badass._ Jeremy’s heart flutters and he bites down a smile, _and Geoff thinks I’m good enough to represent the crew, even through probation. Wow!_

Gavin throws his head back and groans, “Who _cares_? So he’s gonna be a guy you and B team talk to a bunch and I’m gonna see them like once a month. It’s gonna be _awkward_ , Geoff, you do it.”

“Actually, he’s gonna be involved with all of us. According to Gettys, he’s got some ideas for training y’all to make us more efficient.”

“You said ‘y’all’ as if you didn’t also need training,” Jeremy pipes up, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Your claim that I’m not a perfect shot is slanderous,” Geoff says, nudging his head at him, “and real cocky from someone on probation.” Jeremy huffs and tucks his chin down before Geoff claps, “So go grab him. I’ll send you his address, check out what he has before he gets home and give him a good welcoming party when he arrives! Now get out of my office.”

Gavin leans back to groan unhappily one last time, mumbling his “but I don’t need training” comments as he trails out the door. Jeremy pushes his chair in, hurrying after him before Geoff stops him.

“Jeremy, can you stay back here for a second?” Geoff asks. The hair raises on the back of Jeremy’s arms, nervousness flooding his stomach. It’s hard to get over your fear of the Kingpin, even after you find out he’s a kolache-loving sweetheart controlled by Jack. “It’s nothing bad.”

_That’s what they all say, right before they say something bad._ “Uh, sure boss.” The door shuts behind him and he steps closer to Geoff. “What can I help you with?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to say something about your probation.” _Oh shit. I thought I was doing okay. Goodbye world. This is it. The moment I’m fired from the mafia._ “More specifically, your actions at Heaven’s Hope. I’ve been doing a lot of research into it,” he says, standing up and walking around his desk to face Jeremy. “It was a fucked up situation that you walked in to. I don’t fully know how you came upon this place and I don’t really want to know how, but I will say, if I saw what was going on there, I would’ve killed every single person in there.”

He lays a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, “I would have done the exact same thing you did. I wish that you stepped back and called us so that we could have coordinated everything, or at least have known before the public did, but I understand what you did. And Matt Bragg does too. At this point, the probation is mostly for appearance's sake. Keep what I said in mind, but you can relax. At least, for now.”

Jeremy gapes at him before flushing and nodding fervently, relief flooding his body. “Thank you, boss. I’m… glad you agree with what I did and I’m not just crazy or whatever,” Jeremy says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, sure. Now go get out there and surprise a cop,” Geoff says, slapping him on the back and shoving him out the door.  
  


* * *

  
There’s no way you can spin it. It’s just a shit apartment. The last few months have been Jeremy walking into places he felt underdressed in but this, this was not one. Nothing feels more like home than barred windows and ant traps.

“Jeremy, am I right in guessing that this place is a shithole?” Gavin pipes up, peering around with his nose up.

“Yep,” He replies, popping the p. He puts his hands on his hips while glancing around for anything nice, “He’s doing his best though. He’s got nice curtains.”

“Nice curtains, huh?” Gavin adjusts his sunglasses, “I’m gonna go see if I can find some dildos. Wish me luck, Jeremy!”

“Good luck?” Jeremy offers uncertainty as Gavin skips into the one other room the apartment has aside from the bathroom.

At first glance, it looks like a pretty normal and sweet apartment. He has a few fake plants scattered around and video game memorabilia plastered on the walls. Blankets and sweatshirts are thrown haphazardly on the couch. The fridge is stocked with leftover takeout, sodas, and microwavable hot dogs. Mugs sit in his sink and his dishwasher vibrates clunkily. It’s when you look closer that the facade is tampered with.

Jeremy plops on the couch, sucking on a popsicle shaped like a big, cold crayon. The coffee table has scattered bills, game controllers, and mugs, with one large binder on the edge. He picks it up and sets it in his lap, chewing a bit of ice as he flips through the pages. He stops chewing as the words lay themselves up to him, hand slowing.

It was a collection of newspaper clippings from every time they’ve ever been featured in a magazine or newspaper. Some are snippets of crimes they haven’t even been attributed to, with notes scrawled on the edges theorizing if the crew was involved or if this crime was done by someone they later retaliated against. It was ordered chronologically, the book featuring a full timeline of crimes with notes added in of injuries sustained and crew members added and lost. There he was, _Rimmy Tim_ , noted around the week he joined.

After the timeline, there were detailed profiles for each of them. It had photos and descriptions of appearance and personality, every tiny fact about them that he could find. _Geoff Ramsey, Kingpin, leader of the FAHC. Bad right leg and issues shooting, prefers leadership role over involvement in vital missions… Michael Jones, Mogar, pyromaniac with proficiency in loud weapons, confident with larger attacks, bad with stealth, blending in, anger management…_ It details their introduction to crime, their current criminal records, as much they could find about their childhood and involvement with the crew.

He skips a few pages, past the lengthy description of Geoff’s formation of the crew and Michael’s extensive criminal record section, past Jack Pattillo’s complex personality and some Ray guy that Jeremy isn’t interested in. He reads: _Gavin Free, Golden Boy / Gavino, great charisma, deception, and stealth skills, great with tech and some hacking, good pilot but poor driver, issues working in a team (mix of abandonment and commitment issues?? Won’t stay with team when he needs to but won’t get away from team when that’s needed??) Delayed visual response, too easily surprised. Grew up in England (how to access foreign police records??), moved to America for Ramsey._

Clearly, this Alfredo guy is as confused about Gavin’s antics as the rest of the crew. He’ll fit in immediately. Jeremy’s a little disappointed he can’t see more about Gavin’s introduction to crime. He glances at the door to the bedroom; maybe he’ll ask him some time.

He turns a few pages, eyes scanning: _The Vagabond, good at stealth, torture, intimidation, shooting, hand-to-hand combat. Average to poor flight and driving skills, absolutely no charisma or negotiation skills, rough teamwork skills and trust issues._ Yeah, sounds about right.

He turns the page to look at his background but there’s nothing, just an irritated note about masks and his lack of a name. The disappointment in Jeremy’s chest is much more notable now. _And there’s no way I can really ask him either. I could barely get him to tell me his name._

Jeremy can’t help the small smile that pulls at his lips when he sees his name at the beginning of the next entry. His name among the main members of the notorious Fake AH Crew… it’s mind boggling. He pushes past his momentary giddiness to continue reading; _Rimmy Tim, former boxer and petty thief, good hand-to-hand combat, shooting, and stealth, pretty good deception skills, easily distracted and draws attention to self, poor self control and erratic under pressure. More research needed._

Well, when you read your own it just seems _mean_. “I’m not erratic,” he mumbles to himself.

“Why are you talking to yourself, Jeremy?”

Jeremy jumps, throwing up his hands defensively. “Holy fuck, Gavin, you creeped up on me, you scared the shit out of me,” he huffs.

“Oh, sorry. I found a big box under the bed that has all of the information the police had on us. He must have stolen it or photocopied it or something, it’s wild. I think he wrote some stuff on the pages. Or he just spilled red ink everywhere, glasses can’t tell me much,” Gavin says, leaning with his hands pressed into the back of the chair. “Where’d you get a snack? You keep smacking”

“Oh, his freezer, there’s popsicles. It’s a little behind you,” Jeremy says, pointing before awkwardly pulling his hand back. “How’d you know it was the police records?”

“The sunglasses can read normal word fonts and stuff. Handwriting’s a joke though, it can’t read that for shit. Or italics. It has trouble with italics sometimes. It’s a little finicky,” Gavin hums, plucking the snack from the freezer. He peels off the plastic and drops it on the ground. “What have you been looking at?”

Jeremy looks down at the binder on his lap. “Apparently our Alfredo fellow is a bit of a superfan. He’s been grabbing all the newspaper clippings and photos of us and all our escapades and he’s charting every little thing about the crew. I think he’s in love. It’s definitely freaky.”

Gavin gasps, “Oh, what’s it say about me?”

“It says you’re dumb and your accent is stupid and you should have been born in America.”

“Aw, man, I don’t think it says that,” Gavin complains.

“It does say he’s upset he can’t access British crime records which is, like, some of that. I was paraphrasing.”

“That’s not how paraphrasing--” Gavin’s interrupted by the sound of keys jangling. Jeremy leaps up, tossing his swiftly melting popsicle in the trash before grabbing Gavin’s hand and dragging him out of the living room into the bedroom, flicking off the lights as he runs in. They throw themselves against the wall closest to the door so that Alfredo can’t see them until he’s closed the apartment door. Gavin laps at his popsicle quietly.

The door opens and shuts again, the lock thudding back into place before the resident tosses his keys on the counter and sighs loudly. Gavin creeps away to sit on the bed, tossing one leg over the other so he can look as lax and cool as possible. Jeremy eyes him before leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. Yes, super cool.

Alfredo slumps in and, as if in slow motion, he tosses his handgun onto the bed, realizing as soon as it left his hand that there were other people in the room. His eyes widen, mouth forming an ‘o’ as it flops uselessly on the fabric. A moment passes where they stare at each other, Jeremy in disbelief and Alfredo utterly mortified.

“Shit,” Alfredo squeaks, taking a shaky step back, “shit.”

“Are you fuckin’ stupid? Are you an idiot?” Jeremy says, throwing his arms out, “What if there was someone in your room? You didn’t even _check_ before tossing them your gun? Which, there was a someone in your room, we just have our own guns and yours isn’t really needed.”

“Did he just throw his gun on the bed?” Gavin asks, looking over at Jeremy.

“He did just throw his gun on the bed.”

“Hm. That doesn’t seem like proper gun handling.”

“Nobody’s ever broken into my house before, I have it locked up real tight--” Alfredo starts.

Jeremy interrupts him, “Clearly not very tight, we’re here and you didn’t notice an intruder.”

“Well, who would ever try to break in, I’m a rookie cop in the shittiest apartment imaginable!” Alfredo says, gesticulating and bordering on hysteria, “This has never happened to be before!”

“He swears this never happens, Jeremy, he’ll get it up anytime now,” Gavin giggles.

Jeremy nudges him, “Did you find any Viagra in his dresser?”

“Nah, but I did find plenty of lube--”

“Why are you going through my drawers?” Alfredo shrieks, squatting and putting his hands over his head. “I swear I didn’t do anything to you, I’ve always been on your side, I promise, check all my work, I’ve always given you more than you asked me, it’s all perfect, did you see that thing I did with your records?”

“Is this what Matt’s talking about when he’s talking about prostrating?” Jeremy pauses, scratching his chin, “Or was he saying prostate…?”

“We’re just going through your drawers to see if you have any good secrets, Alfredo.” Gavin leans in mischievously, pressing his hands against the bedcover, “I was real interested in the lube you kept in the box of our police records. You whack it to pictures of us, ‘Fredo?”

Alfredo looks up, startled, “What? No. You found what in there? No, man, I swear that wasn’t me, that’d have to be someone else in the force, man, not me--”

Jeremy puts his hands up, “Listen, nothing wrong with jerkin’ it to the crew every once in a while as a fan, it just _happens_ \--”

Gavin looks at him, eyebrows raised, “What? You tossed it to the crew?”

“Wha, I mean, Alfredo does--”

“Dude, I was totally lying about that,” Gavin says, bewildered.

“What? Oh.”

“J, that’s so weird.”

Jeremy pulls his cowboy hat down angrily, face beat red, “I didn’t do anything! Stop talking! Focus on the guy that threw a gun at you!”

Gavin looks at Alfredo, “You threw the gun _at_ me?”

“No! I threw it before I saw you!” Alfredo cries. He points at Jeremy, “Rimmy Tim jerks it to the Fakes!”

“No, I don’t! It was like once a long time ago!”

“So you have done it!” Gavin shrieks, “What does ‘ _like_ once’ mean, was it once or was it not?!”

“ _Can we please focus on the pasta dish we came for?”_ Jeremy yells, pulling his hat over his eyes.

“Came for me or _came_ for me,” Alfredo says seductively, before blinking and nervously adding, “Wait, what do you mean you came for me? I _promise_ I didn’t hurt you. Right, guys?”

“You’re being invited to the Fake AH crew,” Jeremy says, swinging an arm and trying to act like his ears aren’t still burning. “It’s an invitation you can’t refuse.”

“Literally,” Gavin adds, cheery as he goes back to his popsicle.

Alfredo falls backwards onto his ass, staring up at them with wide eyes, “Like? To join?”

“Nah, to fuck. _Yes_ , to join,” Jeremy squints. He doesn’t remember his initiation going anything like this.

Alfredo pulls his hands over his mouth. His eyes start to water, “I thought I would be able to die happy just knowing Gavino and Rimmy Tim knew my name and now I’m being asked to _join?_ This is… so awesome...”

“Alright, man, don’t-- don’t cry, we gotta take you back to the base,” Jeremy starts, awkward. _I mean, I started sobbing as soon as Geoff and Ryan had left the warehouse but, in my defense, I had just killed a bunch of guys and was coming off of adrenaline, so mine was understandable._

“I get to go to _the_ base?” Alfredo squeaks. “Oh man, this is so cool.”

“Holy shit, man, keep it in,” Gavin says, hopping off the bed and standing. “Your clothes are gonna make the gold rot off my watch.” He turns and shows his backside to Jeremy, “Lil J, is there poverty on my ass?”

Jeremy shoves him back onto the bed, “We can’t all be rich, dickhead. Alfredo, let’s go. And bring your police goodie box with you. And the scrapbook. You need to take all the negative parts out of my entry.”

“And mine!” Gavin pipes up, hopping and clinging to Jeremy’s arm, “And add that I’m handsome and single.”

Alfredo crawls across the floor quickly, fetching the box of police records before scrambling to his feet. He nods fervently, “Sure, yes, sure, um, do you want a popsicle?”  
  


* * *

  
“Geoff, I gotta say, this has been your greatest purchase yet,” Jeremy says, tossing his popsicle stick in the trash can as he talks through a mouth full of ice. “He’s great. Let’s get rid of Gavin.”

“Hey!” Gavin shrieks, shoving Jeremy.

“Who did you buy me from? I haven’t gotten any money. Can I have money?” Alfredo looks down at his cup, “What am I drinking? Is this Four Loko? When did I start drinking Four Loko?”

Geoff’s sleepy eyes slide between each of them, appraising them. “Ah,” he says after a moment of thinking, “I shouldn’t have sent you two.”

“Kingpin, I have so much I want to suggest to you,” Alfredo says, excited, hands tight around his Four Loko.

“Fantastic,” Geoff deadpans before leaning back and yelling, “TREVOR!”

Trevor bounds into the room, “Yes sir, what do you need-- Oh my god, is that you, Alfredo?”

Alfredo swings around and gasps, “Trevor! Wow! What are you doing here?”

“I work here, man!”

“Dude, no way! Me too! As of, like, 10 minutes ago!”

“You’re gonna be amazing here, man!”

“Oh my god, there’s two of them,” Michael says, staring as he walks into the room.

“I think my glasses are malfunctioning,” Gavin murmurs.

“I think my brain is malfunctioning,” Geoff says dryly. He lays his head on the desk, “I’m gonna dismantle the crew now.”  
  


* * *

  
He’s in the armory, backed up against one of the tables filled with sharpened knives and daggers. He can feel the heat pulsing through his body, pants tight and eyes lidded as Ryan’s eery painted face gazes back down at him. Ryan’s thighs are pressed against his own, the table sharp against his ass as Ryan forces him back.

“You’re so restless. But I know what you want,” he purrs, hand hot on Jeremy’s jaw as he parts his lips with his thumb.

Jeremy presses his hand over Ryan’s as he drags it down from his jaw, guiding him to squeeze around his throat. “You always do.”

Suddenly, he’s bent over the table, his arms are pinned behind his back by Ryan’s calloused hand. His cheek is pressed against the wood, knives glinting next to his head before Ryan shoves his fingers into his mouth. Jeremy sucks on them, tongue lolling around his digits lewdly before Ryan shoves further, dragging gags out of him. A line of saliva trails over his lips, connecting them when Ryan draws his fingers away.

In the real world, Jeremy’s breathless, squirming unconsciously in his sheets that were quickly getting too hot and tight. His mind was filled with images of Ryan spreading his saliva-soaked hand over his dick, lazily spreading the slick as he pumps himself. Jeremy’s hips press forward against the bed. He feels as needy as the fantasy Jeremy.

His fantasy continues unhindered. He can feel his heartbeat thick in his ears as Ryan slowly slides inside of him, Ryan’s face paint-coated lips parting to let out a harsh breath as he moves. He knows his arms should be starting to cramp in their twisted position behind him but he doesn’t feel it, or if he does he doesn’t care because now Ryan’s moving, now he’s fucking into him and the nails digging into his wrists and pinning them ever harder against his back only add to the experience.

His brain is chanting _use me, use me, use me_ as it’s clouded with lust. He can’t help the quick moans and gasps that escape his open mouth as Ryan pounds into him, his hand drifting from pinning his arms to gripping his hips. His name flows from Jeremy’s lips like it’s the only word he knows aside from “fuck” and “harder,” the nails against his flesh centering him in reality.

And then he’s standing, Ryan’s muscled arm around his chest as he fucks him, hip movements erratic as he drags his teeth over Jeremy’s neck, sucking at his skin. But it’s still not enough and Jeremy is groaning, crying for more and tightening Ryan’s hand around his throat, making his breath labored and tight. He palms himself, his hips darting sporadically as he tries to go between rocking against Ryan’s dick and his own hand and--

His alarm rips him out of his fantasy, his hips jerking from where they were grinding against his sheets, his crotch crying for attention. He’s panting, pillow damp with drool and sheets dirty and wet with sweat. He blinks, lips parted as his alarm wails and forces away the remaining fog of the dream. Dazed, he slaps his phone, flicking the alarm off to stare at the ceiling. The ghost impressions of hands on his hips slip away as he is suddenly aware of the sticky, hot heap he’s in.

He’s fucked. He’s totally fucked.

_I want to fuck the Vagabond._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i always want to put dreams in italics but i worry large bricks of italics would be difficult to read so instead i just make it a little confusing. oops
> 
> thank you all for comments!! i live and breathe them, no matter how small<3


	10. Conversations and Realizations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's almost been a year since my last update! oops. thought i'd be able to juggle this and school work but i couldn't :V summer's coming up now though so it should be getting better...
> 
> thank you so much for all of your continued support, it means the world to me!!

Jeremy will admit that there’s a noticeable change in how he acts around Ryan now. It’s different than before, how his eyes flick over his chest when he walks into a room or how he can’t help but fixate on his ass when he’s leaving. Or the way he subconsciously bites his lower lip when Ryan’s stretching and his shirt rides up, exposing a strip of toned abdomen. Or how he can’t help but get distracted by every little thing Ryan does because god _damn_ everything he does, every tilt of his head and swing of his hips and cock of his gun, is maddeningly attractive to him now.

He has a serious problem.

 

* * *

 

Jeremy throws his head back, gulping down his screwdriver before wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s on Gavin’s couch, legs lazily thrown out in front of him with Gavin’s head in his lap, lanky body spread across the length of the cushions. Jeremy shakes his head, bewildered, “I can’t believe you wasted your question on if I knew Mr. Blobby.”

“It’s not a waste Jeremy, Mr. Blobby was a very formative part of my childhood,” Gavin whines, reaching up to smack at Jeremy’s face.

Jeremy slaps at his hands, huffing as he shoves them down. “You’re right, I _can_ believe that you wasted the question. Dickhead.” Gavin starts to whine again before Jeremy slaps a pillow over his face, muffling him. They’ve been at this for a while, booze flowing sluggishly through their systems as they trade questions and quips. “It’s my turn now.”

“Lil J’s question tiiime,” Gavin sings, pushing off the pillow. “Even if he can’t get a better question than mine, he will still tryyy.”

“Shut up, cartoons aren’t important.”

“Didn’t you want to be an animator? And Mr. Blobby isn’t a cartoon, he’s a real-life demon.”

Jeremy puts the pillow over his face again, “Fuck off, camera boy.” He lets Gavin pull the pillow away to his chest. “Alright, my question. Why are you here? Like, in Los Santos.”

“Jeez, Jeremy, just tell me to leave.”

“No! No, no, no, I mean-- America’s a little far from Britain. What brought you here and, you know, into the crew?”

Thinking, Gavin closes his eyes, eyebrows furrowing. His glasses are on the coffee table, so Jeremy can see the scars and bags around his eyes. He likes looking at them. He likes looking at the real Gavin. “I dunno. I didn’t really like the place, I only had one friend, and my parents didn’t really care for me much so I didn’t care about them. Not much keeping me there. So I just packed up and left when I turned 18. Turns out people in Hollywood weren’t really looking for visually impaired camera guys so that went poorly.” Gavin shifts uncomfortably, hesitating as he chooses his words, “Got into some... weird shit for money, ran into Geoff during that, he picked me up off the streets and brought me under his wing and suddenly I was in the Fake AH Crew. It was just Jack and Geoff at that time, though.”

“Weird shit, huh?”

“Yep,” Gavin chirps, pointedly not explaining.

“Yeah, I’ve been there. I remember when I was a teenager and I was trying to figure out what to do. I was thinking back on what I’d heard about and I was like, ‘How do people even steal cars?’ What do you do after that, y’know? I mean, you got a car, then what? You bring it to a dealership? ‘Hey man, I got this car, the registration is in a different name and the police are looking for it. Can I have money?’ Like, what?” Jeremy says, waving his hand. Gavin giggles. “So that’s why I just stuck to underground boxing clubs instead. Way simpler.”

“I don’t think I really had those kind of muscles.”

Jeremy snorts. “Oh no, I’d definitely have knocked you out in a heartbeat. Don’t get into boxing.”

“Why’d you need money as a teen, Lil J?”

Jeremy presses his lips together. “Is that your question?”

Gavin opens his eyes, looking up at him, “Yep.”

Jeremy hums, resting his head back to watch the ceiling. “Okay… Well, it was just me and my mom living in an apartment in downtown Boston. We got by but money was super tight. I never really saw her around much because she was busy and when we were together there was usually a TV on and she’d be smoking and tired so I don’t know if we knew each other very well. But whatever, we lived together. Anyway, we didn’t have healthcare or any spare cash so I had to start getting money somewhere to self-medicate.”

Gavin wiggles his eyebrows. “Ah, self-medicate, huh,” He says, pinching his fingers like he’s holding a blunt and pretending to blow out smoke.

Jeremy rolls his eyes. “Sure, we’ll go with that. Dumbass.”

“I’m not a dumbass, Jeremy, you’re the one who said it,” Gavin scoffs. He pats up at his face, “Your turn for a question.”

Jeremy nods, humming. _Thinking, thinking, thinking… Okay._ “What’s the ‘weird shit’ you said you did to meet Geoff?”

Gavin’s face scrunches up, eyes closing again. “Mm. Yeah. Should’ve saw that one coming.”

Jeremy rubs the back of his neck, “Sorry, I can ask a different question if you want.”

Gavin waves him off, “No, it’s fine. Whatever you come up with in your head’ll be worse than the truth. I was just kind of a, uh…” He lets out a breath, “Hooker, prostitute, whatever you wanna say. Not even one of those respectable ones with an agency, just those stereotypical ones that walk down the street and lean in car windows. That kind of shit. Real dangerous, looking back at it. One day Geoff picked me up and while I was kissin’ his neck and all that he was asking me about my situation. It was a real turn off, honestly, but afterwards he invited me to stay with him and we bonded and all and eventually I became a part of the crew.” Gavin claps his hands together, “Easy peasy.”

“That doesn’t sound easy at all! I’m glad you didn’t die, man, what if you had gotten killed?” Jeremy says, picking at the hem of Gavin’s shirt.

“Yeah, but I didn’t!” Gavin says, smiling humorlessly. “I’m done with that now, though. Worst case scenario I’d at least become a stripper. That seems way easier. And I’d get more money.”

“I don’t think that you’re really gonna need to go stripping, dude. I think Geoff’d rather die than let you leave the crew,” Jeremy nods. He pauses, looking down at Gavin. “Wait, so did you bang Geoff?”

Gavin flushes, scoffing, “Why, Jeremy, how dare you. I’d never kiss and tell. I will not tell you his dick size no matter how much you beg.”

Jeremy scrunches up his nose, “No, gross, no, I don’t want to know, that guy’s my boss and, like, 100 years old.”

“Not really, he’s only 13 years older than me.”

Covering his face, Jeremy groans, “Oh god, now I’m thinking more about it. Help. I’m in hell.” Realization flicks through his brain and he peers through his fingers, eyebrows raised. “Wait, you’re gay? _Geoff’s_ gay?”

“Hm, I sure hope so since we slept with dudes. It’d be awkward if we weren’t. But yeah, bi. Both of us. So, yeah, I’m into dudes.” Gavin says. He seems a little nervous at the end, eyes darting to the side, but it’s probably Jeremy’s imagination.

“Wow, that’s wild. And here I was afraid that the crew was all straight,” Jeremy says, giddily picking at his beard.

“Pff, yeah, no.” Gavin bites on his lower lip, turning his head away from Jeremy. “Speaking of which, for, uh, my question, are you interested in anyone right now? --Y’know, maybe you met someone out the crew or something, I don’t know.”

Horrifically, Jeremy’s mind automatically murmurs _Ryan_. An image flicks through his head, of Ryan sat next to him driving with his mask off but clothes blood-stained as they came back from Heaven’s Hope. After they kissed. _Not that that meant anything._

He flushes.

“Nah, I just… Well, I dunno. I have someone who I want to bang but it’s not, like, romantic. Y’know.” He scratches at his beard, “I don’t think he’d be into romance.”

“But you want to be romantic?”

“No! No. Just sex,” Jeremy says, looking everywhere but Gavin.

Picking at the hem of Jeremy’s shirt, Gavin casts his eyes down, “Is he interested in you?”

Now it’s the image of Ryan in the base’s training room before they recruited Alfredo. His hand was on his hip, face close to his and voice a low purr. He had invited him to the showers. Jeremy bites his lip.

“Maybe. But… even if he is, I’m still worried.”

“I’m sure you have no reason to worry. Any guy would be happy to sleep with you,” Gavin says, turning on his side to push his head into Jeremy’s stomach.

“I don’t know, I just…” Jeremy takes a deep breath in. “If I tell you this, you’ll keep to yourself, right? No spreading it?”

Gavin lifts up his head and blinks at Jeremy. He sets his hand on Jeremy’s, “Of course, Lil J, you can trust me.”

“Okay, so, the drugs I said I had to raise money for? I was talking about testosterone. I don’t have a, uh, dick.” Gavin looks at him expectantly. “...So I don’t know if he’d be turned off by that or…?”

“Oh, that’s all?” Gavin sets his head back down in Jeremy’s lap, picking his hand up and holding it to his chest. “So you’re trans, that’s no big deal. Lots of people in the crew are trans. You don’t need to worry about that. If you don’t want people to know, that’s cool, but you don’t have to worry about it.”

Jeremy blinks. “Oh.”

“Yeah, why do you think Jack’s so tall? Just won the genetic lottery?”

Blink, blink. Dawning realization. “Oh shit, really?”

“Yeah, dude.” Gavin closes his eyes before adding, “And you shouldn’t wanna bang anyone who isn't into your body.” He runs a finger over Jeremy’s palm. “It wouldn’t change anything for me.”

“Okay,” Jeremy relaxes. “Okay. Cool. Awesome.” He puts his free hand on his face, “Heh, I had been so worried that somehow the whole ‘trans’ issue would spread and be used against me if I ever told anyone.”

“Nah,” Gavin says, curling his fingers over his. A moment passes before he quietly adds, “So who are you into?” Jeremy looks down at him. “If I know them I can, uh, help tell you if they’re interested.”

He gnaws on his bottom lip, working at it. _Fuck it, what’s the worst that can happen?_ “Ryan.”

Gavin instantly stills. He’s frozen for a moment before he lets out a deep, low sigh and releases Jeremy’s hand. “Yeah, I don’t think that’d be an issue. Ryan’d stick it in any hole he could find.”

“Huh?”

Gavin pushes himself up and off of Jeremy, hands going up to ruffle his hair. “Nah, nothing, it’s good. Go fuck Ryan. He’d be up for it. Don’t worry about it any longer. I think I’m going to go to bed.”

“Are you alright? This is really sudden, ” Jeremy starts, eyebrows creasing.

“Yeah, no, I’m good. Just real tired. You should go.” Gavin stands up, slipping around the coffee table and heading towards the bathroom. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“O-Oh, okay!” Jeremy stands up. _It’s been two seconds, how the fuck am I suddenly getting kicked out?_ “I hope you, uh, sleep well!”

“Yeah.” Gavin says, voice dry, “You too.”

 

* * *

 

He was restless after that. After he returned to his own apartment, he stood around for a while, aimlessly wiping at his counters before giving up. He needed to get out. Sobering after Gavin’s weird exit, he tossed on a hoodie and laced up his running shoes before heading out into the night.

It’s muggy, his tank top sticking to his skin in an uncomfortably wet layer as he jogs down the street. He checks his watch; 10 pm. Now’s as good a time as any for shady shit to be going down. _Hopefully_ , he thinks, tugging at the edge of his shirt to peel it away from his skin, _something interesting will be happening for a change. I’m due for punching something. Just because work’s been slow. Nothing else._

As he rounds the corner, he hears the familiar exasperated growl of his favorite curly-haired coworker. “Take it or leave it, shitheads, but I’m not standing around here all day. Yeah, yeah, my jeans are fuckin’ great and you wanna rub all up on them. I get it, they’re expensive. Luxurious. Luxury you clearly don’t have in this dump.” Jeremy slows to a stop. He takes a few steps backwards, peering into the alley where the voice is echoing from. “Y’all ever clean this place? Use your paws. You can clearly shove stuff around. Spoiled dipshits.”

“Michael?”

Michael jumps, jerking his head in Jeremy’s direction as he holds out his cat food defensively. The cat on his shoe flops on her side unhappily. He blinks, “Jeremy? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was just on a walk, man, I-- Why are you here? And why are you surrounded by cats?”

An orange tabby slinks between Michael’s legs, rubbing her head against his calf. “I’m not.”

“I have bad news for you, bud,” Jeremy says, huffing as he squats and holds out his hand to a black cat watching wearily from the side. “Hey little guy, what’re you doing here?” They sniff his hand and give in to his affection.

Michael shifts uncomfortably, “If anyone asks, I wasn’t here, alright?”

Jeremy looks up at him, hand gliding over the cat’s fur, “Yeah, what the hell are you doing here, man?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know! I don’t fuckin’ know. Lindsay, goddamn, must’ve rubbed off on me for one day, I had leftover fish from a restaurant, I saw a scrappy bitch hanging on in the alley, I gave it the fish, and now there’s a hoard. I don’t know what happened.” The shoe-cat, as Jeremy has decided to name it, resituates herself on Michael’s shoe.

“So you bought cat food?”

“I mean, I just--” Michael sighs and looks away, rubbing his forehead. “I _happened_ to be crossing through the area and thought I’d check in on him again and then there was two of the fuckers and I thought I’d just, uh, grab a few cans of food from the Walgreen’s y’know. But then more kept _coming_ and that shit’s expensive so gotta go in bulk, right?”

Jeremy raises his eyebrows at him. The cat at his side has decided they are comfortable next to him and they tuck their legs underneath their body as they lay down. “Sure.”

“I don’t like cats.”

“No, totally.”

“There’s a reason I’m not taking them home.”

“Uh huh.”

Michael growls, exasperated, “No, really, they’re just, fucking, needy! And idiots! They’d die without me. Because they’re so fucking stupid. Why the fuck would that guy trust you?” Michael says, gesturing at the cat at Jeremy’s side, “It needs to know how to survive in the wild and cuddling up to a random stranger isn’t the way to do that.”

“Maybe he saw that you, their trusted master -- and maybe father? -- were okay with me and they followed your lead.”

Michael groans, tipping his head back. “They shouldn’t. They’re not that smart.”

“I dunno, they seem pretty smart. I mean, they have you wrapped around their finger. Er, paw.” Michael purses his lips and crosses his arms. Jeremy looks around, “Do you come here every night?”

“I mean, yeah, they gotta eat.”

“Heh. That’s funny.” Jeremy nods, “You’re whipped.”

“Shut the fuck up. Why are you still here?”

“I dunno,” he looks down at the cat he’s petting, “I kinda like this guy.”

“Then visit. I know they’re at least here at 10 every night, ‘cause that’s when I’m here. I’d love it if you took this over ‘cause I don’t wanna fuckin’ do it.”

“Nah, I think this is still for you.” Michael groans. “But maybe I’ll visit.”

 

* * *

 

A week later, Jeremy takes home the black cat. He names him Booker.

 

* * *

 

Jeremy tosses his towel over his shoulder as he heads out the headquarter’s gym, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. The whole building is dark. _Everyone must have left already._ He checks his watch. That’s understandable; it’s already 7, and people rarely want to stay longer than they have to on a Friday. He bounces along to the tune of some rock song stuck in his head as he heads to the kitchen to scoop up his keys as he hears Geoff’s heavy sigh from far in his office. _Huh, Geoff must still be working. I wonder if he needs any help._ As he nears the door, hand out to push the door open, he hears another voice.

“No, I’ve thought this through, Geoff,” Gavin says, frustrated. Jeremy steps back and lowers his hand; he doesn’t want to get involved in an argument. _I should just go,_ he thinks, _they’re busy anyway._

“Gavin--” Geoff starts. Jeremy shifts his bag on his shoulder and turns to walk away.

“I’m serious, Geoff, Jeremy’s been hanging out with him too much!” Jeremy stops. “He’s a bad influence. Jeremy’s been getting crueler, haven’t you noticed? It’s bad for him!”

“It’s a natural side effect of the job. We took a thief who rarely killed and made him kill for a living. His brain has to change the way it thinks about human life in order to not-- not break under all this. All of us went through the same shit.”

Gavin scoffs, “Didn’t you see the church massacre? I’ve never gone in a place, not for a mission or anything, and committed a goddamn, massacre or whatever, let alone only a few months on the job.” Jeremy’s lips part; he pulls his bag to his chest. “I heard he was crying after he killed the people when you hired him, and just a few months after befriending Ryan and he’s murdering people all over the place with him.”

“First of all, Heaven’s Hope was a conversion camp, not a church. He was saving kids. He went about it the wrong way, but I wouldn’t say it was an act of pure cruelty. If I said I wanted to do the same thing, you would go along.” Gavin starts to object before Geoff cuts him off, “And we don’t know of any other incidents where he killed people off mission.”

“I think he did. With Ryan. Something happened, Geoff, and suddenly they were all buddy-buddy, and I think Ryan started brainwashing him there or something--”

“Do you have _any_ proof of that whatsoever, Gavin? Anything?” Geoff’s seat creaks, “Or are you just thinking that up right now?”

“There are lots of unsolved murders in the town that we can’t track to us or any other gangs--”

“Yeah, people kill, Gavin,” Geoff says, exasperated. “You don’t have any proof. And Jeremy isn’t suddenly spouting demonic texts, and, _and,_ if he was, Ryan doesn’t have anything to do with it. We don’t have anything that points to Ryan being a brainwasher. I also think it’s unprofessional of you to believe all the rumors about the Vagabond given that he’s your coworker. You realize we help to perpetuate those rumors, right? Like, those help us. We _try_ to make him look like a psychopath.”

“I just think you should pair them up on missions less. Or never. That’s all.”

There’s a pause, quiet other than the sound of shifting leather. Jeremy stares ahead, back to the door. “I don’t think that this is why you don’t want them together,” Geoff says. “I think you’re jealous.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you want to separate them because you’re worried they’ll fuck.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Gavin growls.

“I think that argument in the casino wasn’t totally fake.”

Gavin hisses, “It was for a mission. That’s it.”

“It sounded pretty specific at some parts.”

“Shouldn’t you have been focused on doing your job? You must’ve misheard.”

“Gavin--” Geoff starts.

“Geoff,” Gavin warns. Jeremy feels like he should leave.

“Ryan’s aggressive in flirting. He’s good at it, he’s not shy.”

“Yeah, when he’s laid his eyes on his prey,” Gavin interrupts. Geoff sighs.

“It’s not a business matter, so there’s no reason for me to get involved.”

“It’s gonna be a business matter when Ryan breaks his heart, or fucks up his brain, or they bang on the job or something. You know how Ryan is, it’s gonna happen,” Gavin argues.

There’s another moment of silence. Jeremy assumes they’re staring each other down or something. Jeremy also assumes he’s gonna jump off a bridge if they keep discussing him.

“I’m not your mom. I’m not going to fix your personal issues for you. I don’t give a fuck who Jeremy fucks and I don’t give a fuck about changing who Jeremy fucks. If you want him, make your own moves. It’s not my problem.”

“I don’t care who he fucks either!” Gavin shouts, accompanied by the sound of moving fabric that Jeremy can only assume comes from him gesticulating wildly. “That’s not why I’m here!”

“Isn’t it? I feel like it is.”

“You’re an idiot if you think that,” Gavin spits. “I’m leaving.” _Oh shit._ Jeremy sucks his breath in, looking around wildly. He needs to get out of there before they see him. He does _not_ want them to know he heard all that. He also does not want to have heard all that. He starts quickly shuffling towards the exit as quietly as he can.

“Do whatever you want, I’m not keeping you here. I’ll be here if you have any business-related queries.” _Fuck, the elevator’s gonna be too loud._ Jeremy sets his eyes on the door to the staircase.

“Shut up,” Gavin hisses, voice faint now that Jeremy’s farther away.

“See you tomorrow,” Geoff replies. Jeremy’s throwing himself into the staircase and down the stairs as he hears Geoff’s door open.

When he makes it to the garage, dripping with sweat and heaving, Gavin’s car is already gone. Jeremy wipes his forehead and hobbles towards his vehicle, mind racing. _Does Gavin like me? No, that’s dumb, he just wants to protect me because we’re lads, and friends. Not that I need protecting. I’m a grown man. Does Ryan like me? Geoff said he’s flirting. We did kiss. And that stuff in the locker room…_ Jeremy flushes, swallowing. _He might be trying to get in my pants. Maybe. Hopefully._

_Hah_ , Jeremy thinks, throwing open the door to his car, _I’m like a teenager again. Stupid._ He starts the ignition, shaking his head as he talks to himself, “There’s nothing illegal about friends with benefits. I know how to handle myself. I appreciate that Gavin cares about me and our friendship, but he doesn’t need to worry. Getting laid isn’t gonna change anything, not about me and not about my friendship with Gavin.” Jeremy nods, satisfied with his assessment of the conversation. “And Ryan’s a good guy, Geoff said it himself. So it’s all good. Yeah, this is good. Perfect, actually. Never been better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jeremy, you're lucky ryan and gavin are morosexuals
> 
> thanks to my beta reader ao3 user myarmada!


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